


Little Victories

by Eirian14



Series: Don’t we all just become someone else? [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ANGST FOR THE ANGST GODS, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Blood and Injury, Dream Smp, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone Needs A Hug, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Inspired by Fanart, Lots of pain because spain without the s is all we live for, Manipulation, Pain, Panic Attacks, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Tags Are Fun, Tags Are Hard, Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo Angst, Toby Smith | Tubbo Misses TommyInnit, Tommy has wings like phil, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Misses Toby Smith | Tubbo, Trauma, Trust Issues, We love exile angst, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Winged TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wings, Wings AU, fanfics are hard to write, just because we want angst, maybe happy ending idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28651548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eirian14/pseuds/Eirian14
Summary: Inspired by @kvaughanarts on TikTok! They have incredible art and PLEASE check them out, they inspired the wing au :)"Tubbo cleared his throat and stated resolutely to the masked figure across the obsidian: “Dream, I’ve come to the decision that’ll be best for the nation… the most logical thing to do is for Tommy to be exiled from L’Manberg.”After being exiled, Tommy didn't think his life could get worse. His only solace in his isolation from his old friends was being able to fly in secret at night, unbeknownst to Dream, who refused to let him do much of anything fun, let alone use his wings. Tommy's wings, one of the only things he has that Dream doesn't.Until Dream catches him flying.And rips them off.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, No Romantic Relationship(s), Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Don’t we all just become someone else? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154153
Comments: 403
Kudos: 2161





	1. Too Close to the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first fanfiction EVER and I really hope you enjoy it! <3 
> 
> This fanfic is inspired by @kvaughanarts on TikTok! They have incredible art so PLEASE check them out, they created the idea for this wing au, and I'll be following some of the plot they set up in their TikTok series of this. If you have any other suggestions, please let me know!
> 
> Anyway, angst for the angst gods, right? ;)

_Falling_. It was like all of the breath being ripped out of your chest, like the momentum of a bullet hitting your armor and thinking for just a moment you were shot. The feeling was _horrible_. Perched atop the new, towering obsidian walls, Tommy felt for the first time what falling was really like as he stared at his best friend. He knew the words that were about to be said as Tubbo spared a quick glance behind him. “Tommy, I am so, _so_ sorry,” he said, before turning to Dream once more. Next to Tommy, Quackity and Fundy murmured in confusion. Tommy felt it was coming, yet the pain was in no way softened as Tubbo cleared his throat stated resolutely to the masked figure across the obsidian:

“Dream, I’ve come to the decision that’ll be best for the nation… the most logical thing to do is for Tommy to be exiled from L’manberg.”

At the last phrase, Tubbo turned and stared Tommy dead in the eyes. It was a new thing, Tommy pondered as his mind reeled, not being able to read his best friend’s face after this long. Fundy and Quackity instantly bombarded Tubbo with outrage and questions, and over Tubbo’s shoulder, Tommy thought that Dream looked pleased. Giddy, even, based on the way he was rocking on his armored boots. Tommy just stood there, the shock reeling through his veins. Just as the thought _What about our plan with Technoblade_ popped into his head, Tubbo, locked in argument with the other two, sharply pointed out the absurdity of working with Techno, and how they had an entire nation to worry about, not just one person. _Especially not the one person who couldn't do one thing for him_ , Tommy thought bitterly. _Not even the one person who always stood by his side._

The brittle winter wind crested the tall walls, ruffling the feathers of Tommy’s red-gold wings. The cold of betrayal already had his wings curling around him, and the gust and arguing drew them tighter around his body. The gift of flight, the only gift his father had given him that helped him handle the destructive problems he’d faced on the Dream SMP. The father who left Tommy, at such a young age, with Wilbur, to survive in a cruel world on his own. And now Tubbo was doing the same. Tubbo, noticing at last Tommy’s silence, looked at him again, and a muscle in his jaw flexed, the look in his usually warm eyes like a wall of ice.

º-º-º-º-º

Dream voiced his approval of Tubbo’s decision, Fundy pleading with Tubbo and Quackity fuming, then Tommy was escorted down the wall. When they hit the grass, Dream’s hand like a shackle around Tommy’s arm, they looked up. Tubbo stared down at them, and even though Tommy hadn’t left for exile, he already felt a million miles away. Fundy and Quackity looked at Tommy, helpless to thwart the order of their president. Tommy’s hand brushed the wall as he was aggressively pulled away. What might be the last touch he had with anything of the country he had fought so hard to establish and protect.

Dream was mostly silent as they made their way towards the docks. The sky was a bleak gray, and Tommy absentmindedly noted that Philza, when he actually _made_ time to teach Tommy about flying with his young wings, would warm him about taking to the air in such blustery weather. Tommy let out a sigh.

Ghostbur joined them on the way, and resolved that he would come on the ‘vacation’ with them. Dream started pulling out two rowboats.

“I could just fly,” Tommy grumbled, “I have, you know, wings,” he proudly rustled his copper feathers in emphasis, "and you don’t need to make me exhaust myself by rowing across an entire ocean—”

Dream cut him off.“Tommy, you won’t be flying around in exile, so you won’t be flying now. Not to where we’re going, not when I know you could just turn right around and flap on back.” Dream pulled out a wicked netherite axe, a gesture that spoke for iteself. “From now on, you’re staying right where I can reach you.” A sliver of concern shot into Tommy’s already troubled mind, but he ignored it. Dream could tell him not to fly all he liked, but the second Dream left Tommy alone, he could at least fly around where he’d be staying. As they made their way across the turbulent waters Tommy folded his wings tight against his body in reassurance while he rowed. It’s not like Dream could take his wings from him.

º-º-º-º-º

_Three months later_

Dream hadn’t been bad, at the start. He’d let Tommy into the Nether, let Ghostbur bring him back polaroids from L’Manberg, even if they hurt more than helped. He was Tommy’s friend. A better friend than the others had been—despite the enchanted compass Tommy wore around his neck, pointing to someone who was his best friend across the sea, Tommy felt like Tubbo had completely severed their friendship. A few had visited at the start of exile, like Bad and Ranboo, and a few weeks before Christmas Tommy was out in the forest and Puffy brought him a whole Christmas tree. But over time they just… stopped coming. Dream had shown up every day, and although each time he took more and more out of Tommy literally and mentally, making him blow up his resources each time and making offhand comments about how no one really cared, at least he made the effort to entertain Tommy and _be there._

_At least he stayed. He showed up._

Dream was Tommy’s friend, who showed up to the beach party two weeks ago that not even Ghostbur attended, despite hand-delivering each invitation. The party that not a single one of his old friends wanted to come to, not Tubbo, because apparently he was always just a burden. An irritating force that no one really wanted in their lives. Dream, while more punishing when Tommy messed up, had come, and come every day since Ghostbur stopped showing up. Dream visited Tommy on Christmas, and let him keep his items for one night. He stayed and listened to the Chirp disc with him, and didn’t try to take it. No one else showed up to wish him a merry Christmas, and Tommy spent the night shivering in his flimsy tent against the snow.

And Tommy had followed his rules, reluctantly at first, and now with complete compliance. The old him would have spat in Dream's face, fought and struggled against him and laughed in his face. But the punishment got to him over time, dug up painful anecdotes of the past, and wore him down. Watching his grueling work disappear with the hiss and boom of TNT that shot terrible memories into Tommy’s head from gruesome wars and betrayals. So, after a while, he gave up. He didn’t try to sneak back, stopped trying after the initial weeks to argue with him and try to convince him to let Tommy go back. Every once in a while, Tommy would find himself already preparing his resources so that Dream wouldn’t have to waste time asking him. Dream got mad when Tommy took too long to follow an order. As time went by, his masked friend became more and more severe, the verbal abuse starting to become slaps and shoves when Tommy didn’t do exactly as he wanted. But he stayed Tommy’s friend, so he did what Dream said.

The only order that Tommy couldn’t bear to follow, an order the spark of his old self kept him from following, was Dream’s command that Tommy could not fly. He’d made threats of what he’d do if Tommy disobeyed, but the second night fell after Dream would leave for the day, Tommy would take to the skies.

He’d fly up, and up, and up. Never daring to make the perilous journey across the sea, knowing that Dream would catch him one way or another if he did, Tommy’s only option was to go up.

Cradled by the golden stars, some of the pain of his solitude faded. The soft wind night never seemed to be cold enough to keep his wings from spreading. The tiny lights in the skies were Tommy’s little victories, his one act of defiance that survived the destruction of his former life. Hundreds of feet in the air, Tommy could forget, just for a moment, and pretend he was soaring above a happy L’Manberg, or that he was little again and with Philza, singing silly songs as he improved his wing strength. But he always had to come back to the ground. And lie to Dream.

Lying to Dream, his only _real_ friend, made Tommy feel awful. But he couldn't bring himself to let go of the only gift Philza ever gave him, the only ability Tommy had that made his father seem proud. He’d give no indication that he spent all night flying to Dream, and the warrior never asked. The deep bags under Tommy’s eyes were already a normal sight in his exile, so an hour or two of less sleep was hardly noticeable, right? Sometimes he’d get a striking feeling, just for a moment, that Dream knew, and he’d take his last life then. But it went away each time. He got away with it.

Until Tommy made the mistake of spending too long flying, and was brought back to Earth’s by Dream’s enraged shouts.

And Dream hacked his wings off.


	2. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy gets caught hiding materials. Then he gets caught flying. So Dream takes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for all the support on chapter one <3 I'm so glad you all liked it and I can keep writing angst for you angst gods :) I tried to get this chapter up as soon as I could.
> 
> This chapter has some blood and a TON of pain in it, so please read with discretion. Also, please feel free to leave suggestions/comments/what you thought below! It helps me a ton. :D 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy! >:)

It happened on the day Dream found Tommy’s stash of items.

  


It took a lot out of Tommy to give up his items day after day after day. He knew he could never outmaneuver Dream, not by planning and not by brute force. But he didn’t want to break, and the cracks that he hid inside were beginning to show on the surface. Not wanting to listen to discs anymore. Not wanting to update his silly streaks board. Not wanting to eat. He was falling apart, so he made a secret little room under the blue house Ghostbur made in Logstedshire. So he could feel like he had something that was _his_ , and not Dream’s. Even if Dream was the only companion he had left, Tommy was determined to maintain an iota of the independence he had back in L’Manberg.

  


The day was painfully sunny and bright. As Tommy passed a small pond on his way back from chopping wood, he winced at his reflection, emaciated and nowhere near the boy who he used to be. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair, which was dull and dirty, and had grown a bit longer than the short, fluffy cut he preferred. He shook his head and made his way back to the low walls of Logstedshire.

  


Glancing over his shoulder, dreading and hoping Dream would show up at the same time, Tommy slipped into the house and tucked the logs into a chest underneath the floorboards. Just moments after he replaced the birch wood on top of the hole, he heard Dream’s greeting from outside.

  


_Company!_ The sad, desperate part of him called.

 _Enemy._ Whispered the old flame of his heart.

  


Tommy stepped outside the house. “Hi Dream,” he said, his words lacking much of their former vigor. Even though he couldn’t see Dream’s face behind his porcelain white mask, he thought Dream seemed suspicious, shooting familiar fear through his veins. He swallowed. “What’s up?”

  


Dream went on about some project he was looking for slime for, then asked. “What about you, Tommy? What have you been up to?”

  


Tommy shrugged, hoping to seem nonchalant, stretching his wings. “Not much. I-I updated my streaks sign,” he said with a half-hearted grin.

“Hah, fun,” Dream grunted. “Anyway, you know the drill…” and he started digging down to blow up Tommy’s items.

  


Two things were different about that day, Tommy realized too late. Dream had shown up earlier than usual, and they almost never started hanging out inside the stripped logs of Logsted. This was planned.

“Wait, wait Dream, we’re too close to the house and it’ll—”

Tommy fell silent as Dream fell into the small room below the house, the room with the increasing items Tommy had been harboring.

Dream was furious. He said he was hurt that Tommy would hide things like this from him when _“I’m your only friend_. _”_ Tommy pleaded with him not to destroy the items inside, the diamonds, food, pictures of his old friends, tried to stop Dream from throwing the materials in the hole. Dream grabbed one of Tommy’s wings and shoved him toward the pit. _“How about I throw_ you _in the hole, Tommy?_ ” Then he blew up the house. The rest of Logsted. Broke the nether portal. Then with Tommy scrambling on his heels, he blew up Tommy’s tent, the only shelter he had left.

  


When he was done, Tommy had fallen to his knees. Dream whirled around on him, fists clenched. “Let this be a lesson. Start over. Never try pulling _shit_ like that again.” And left, the smoke of destruction swirling in his wake.

ø-º-º-º-ø

Tommy cried. Cried like he hadn’t in a long, long time, sobs shuddering his entire body. He hurt his only friend. _And he’s ruined everything you had._ He didn’t know how long he sat crouched there. When the tears finally subsided, it was night. He drew his reddish wings tight around his thin form, then spread them. Without thinking, Tommy threw himself into the skies. Away, away from the craters and pain below him.

And for a minute, it was just the same sky that Tommy had watched for years, that held him lovingly in its stars and winds like no person ever had. The pain lessened. Then the pain exploded, and Tommy looked down to see an arrow sunk shallow in his side. The shock made his wings falter, and Tommy _fell_.

The feeling sent images of betrayal atop an obsidian wall through his mind, of Tubbo—of Toby—exiling him. Tommy looked down, and Dream stood with an arrow nocked in a crossbow, getting closer and closer as the ground rushed toward him. Tommy spread his wingspan out just in time to slow his descent. It was clumsy, Phil would have said. Tommy hit the ground in a graceless tumble, and looked up to see Dream storm over. He hurt too badly to stand, the arrow still making his side bleed and the tumble making his bones ache.

Dream started shouting. “The _ONE_ thing, Tommy! The one _fucking_ thing you had to do to make it worse for yourself. You couldn’t obey _a SINGLE THING_ for me _! Not one!_ ” Tommy remembered Tubbo saying something almost identical, and crumbled a little more.

Dream went on. “And to think—to think that I was coming back to _apologize_ for overreacting! To give you a new tent!” He gestured with his crossbow, still in his hand, toward the fresh materials for a tent a few feet away. “And you had to go and _betray_ me like that?”

  
Tommy felt the tightness in his throat that meant tears were coming, and hurriedly said, “Dream I-I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt or betray you, I-I’ve just been so lonely by myself and I felt so bad about hiding things from you, and I j-just wanted to g-get away from all the destruction I made because I ruin everything and the only place w-where I can’t ruin things is in the air and—”

“ _Shut up._ ” Dream said, his voice sharp and deadly. Tommy lay there, his wings spread-eagle at awkward angle. Dream pointed his crossbow at Tommy. “Walk toward the forest.” Tommy struggled up, and Dream led him in between two trees.

“Turn around. Spread your wings.”

Tommy gasped, terror like nothing he’d known making it hard to breathe. He never thought Dream would go so far, never thought he would do something like this…

 _But you’ve always known he could. That he might if he wanted. Hasn’t he been taking things from you from day one?_ Said that burning voice in his heart, louder in his fear.

Tommy begged. “Dream, no, _no_ , please, please, please don’t, anything but this, I-I’ll never ever do anything again I—”

“ _Spread your fucking wings against the tree trunks, Tommy, or I’ll put this arrow through your fucking heart.”_

Tommy fell to his knees, tears flowing from his graying eyes as he sobbed, and spread his wings, letting their red feathers brush the trunks. The moon was full and bright, and the golden sheen in each wing seemed to glow. Beautiful.

  
Then Tommy screamed as a bolt from the crossbow pinned one wing to the tree on the left, then the other on the tree to the right. Wings were incredibly sensitive, Philza had always told him, and he had to take care of them at all costs and keep them from harm. Agony burrowed down his wings to his shoulder, and he watched crimson blood stain the coppery feathers. _So Dream’s going to torture me, and leave me with my wings impaled all night_ , Tommy thought, sure it couldn’t get worse. Sure for one second that Dream could take no more from him.

  


Then he heard the tell-tale _shink_ of netherite steel being drawn. Still shuddering with sobs, Tommy turned his head as much as he could, and saw Dream step forward toward Tommy with a wicked axe. _No. No. No._

As Tommy struggled, his wings screaming with each moment and more blood flowing from his wounds, both on his wings and the arrow in his side, Dream let out a single, brutal laugh.

“This will hurt you _a lot_ more than it’s going to hurt me, Tommy,” he murmured in Tommy’s ear. Then he swung.

The axe hit where Tommy’s right wing attached to his back and shoulders, and Tommy thought his throat might bleed from how harshly he screamed. But Tommy’s wings were strong and muscled, so Dream’s axe didn’t go through right away. He had to hack at the wing, blood flying, before Tommy felt it go through. He felt his body lean to the right, a weight absent from his side. When Dream started on the second, Tommy’s vision went white. It took just as long, each hit of the axe like a thousand bullets. And then Tommy was weightless, a thud indicating the other wing had landed on the ground.

For a moment, he swayed on his knees, feeling as though he wasn’t dead but not alive, his wings and blood on either side of him. Then he fell forward into the gory grass. As his vision dimmed, Tommy tightly grasped one of his beautiful, beautiful feathers, stained with his own blood. And then blissful darkness swept through his mind, sending him into night as Tommy’s age of touching starlight came to end.


	3. Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghostbur feels it in his soul when a scream from far, far away echoes in his ears. Something is wrong. He and Technoblade travel to Tommy to see if he's okay. But oh boy, is he not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, I see the slight interest in my work and raise you yet another chapter in the same day because I have no life. Here is chapter three! :D yay! Thank you guys SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT ;-; It encourages me to keep writing this at ungodly times of the day. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is ~angsty~ in Tommy's dreamworld and with Ghostbur & Techno in the real one. This one is very bloody so please read with discretion. Sorry if you see typos I just wanted to finish this chapter then sleep. I'm trying my best to figure out spacing & indenting on ao3 too! I hope you all enjoy and please leave a comment with your thoughts/reactions below! It would mean a ton and help me improve my writing ^-^ I live to write ~pain~ for you all hehe
> 
> Without further ado, ANGST FOR THE ANGST GODS
> 
> TW: Blood, Gore, Injury

Tommy was standing on the Prime Path again, bow drawn. In his revolutionary uniform, ready to duel Dream for the independence of L’Manberg. Across from him, Dream stood, weaponless, which wasn’t right—they were dueling, thought Tommy, so it would only be fair that Dream had a weapon, too.

He heard Wilbur’s voice saying the words “10 paces…” but it sounded distant, warped, far away. Tommy let the bowstring slip out of his fingers, sending the arrow flying, but as it reached Dream, the arrow vanished.

“Oh Tommy,” said Dream, slipping off his mask. Beneath it, though, was not the hidden face of his adversary, but Tommy’s. “You can’t kill me now; you’ve as good as killed yourself.”

Tommy felt his wings spread, but when he looked to them, they were dripping with rivulets of blood falling down each feather. When Tommy started to cry out, they disappeared in a cloud of red. He looked up in horror, and his own doppelganger in Dream’s clothes was now right in front of him.

“Birds without wings,” his reflection said in Dream’s voice. “don’t fly.” And pushed Tommy off the path, and he fell down, down, down…

*~*~*~*~*

_(Ghostbur’s POV)_

When Dream told Ghostbur not to deliver any more invitations, Ghostbur was a little unsure but listened to him anyway. Since Dream was Tommy’s friend, Dream had promised, it was okay to trust him because Tommy told Dream to change the date. So Ghostbur didn’t worry. If Dream said Tommy was okay with it, Ghostbur would do anything to help out Tommy, especially since he’d been having a hard time recently.

But then Dream told Ghostbur to go wander and walk. In the rain and snow. And Ghostbur did it, because Dream told him that Tommy was too upset to see anyone and the last person he’d want to see was his ghostly brother. And while it made Ghostbur sad, he did it. Then he realized Dream must have forgotten that the snow and rain would melt Ghostbur, because he found himself panicking to find shelter. Luckily, once he got in the snow biome the frozen snowflakes were easier to dodge.

It was only when Techno barely rescued Ghostbur from melting in a snowstorm that Ghostbur considered maybe he should have stayed, and maybe, just maybe, Dream tried to kill him. The ghost wasn’t oblivious to the meaner things Dream had done, and he wasn’t oblivious to the way Tommy only got sadder and sadder. Before Dream sent him away, he started to see the way Dream kind of controlled conversations and situations into the outcome he wanted, like a puppetmaster playing with the strings. But no one else noticed or mentioned it, so Ghostbur figured he was just delusional like the rest of them said he was.

Ghostbur knew, he really, really knew, something was wrong when he heard the scream that came from nowhere near Technoblade’s house in the tundra. It was the most wretched noise the phantom had ever heard, full of agony and tears and loss that no piece of blue could ever fix.

Ghostbur’s form flickered a few times. “T-Techno?” He whispered. His brother looked up, the glow of lanterns bouncing off of his shiny pig mask that covered his nose and eyes. “Yeah?” The sound echoed in Ghostbur’s ears. “Did you hear that?” “Hear what?” “That-that scream.”

Techno cocked his head to the side. “Ghostbur, there was no scream.” Ghostbur trembled, and started pacing and shaking his head. “No, no Techno, it…” The ghost stopped. “It sounded like Tommy.”

His brother just sighed. “Ghostbur, I think you’re just hearin’ things again. Don’t you, uh, usually have some blue to help you with that? Tommy’s in Logstedshire, not here. If he were here I’d know because—” “ _No!_ ” Ghostbur cried. “Technoblade listen to me—it, it wasn’t like the sounds and memories that get all trapped and fluttery in my head, it was _loud_ and _real_ and _I think Tommy is in trouble_!”

Technoblade considered for a moment, then stood. “Well, I don’t think Tommy wants to see me, er, ever, but there’s no harm in checking in on him.” Ghostbur sighed with relief. “I don’t know what’s wrong Technoblade but I feel like something happened and I haven’t felt so strongly about something since I was Alive-bur.” Ghostbur saw Techno’s mouth tighten, and he nodded. His brother left a note for Philza on the table, and Techno saddled his horse, Carl, and rode, with Ghostbur floating along with them.

As they neared the village just nearby Logsted, they saw dark smoke clouding the early sky. Techno spurred Carl into a full on gallop, Ghostbur in train struggling to keep up.

`-`-`-`-`

_(Technoblade’s POV)_

The voices in Techno’s head were nervous, which was unusual. He had never seen his dead brother like this since, well, since he was trickling towards insanity back in Pogtopia. And as he rode Carl towards the land of Tommy’s exile, the voices panicked.

_Something is wrong, something is very bad_ they said.

_Pain. Suffering. Fear. Fear. Fear. Loss. Go help. Save._

And while the voices weren’t always trustworthy, especially in reigning in Techno from violence, they were reliable when it came to grave danger. And if his youngest brother was in serious danger, no matter their quarrels, Techno would be there.

His own determination faltered in surprise when he saw the crater where the quaint little home and grounds Ghostbur had made for Tommy was. The silence was pierced only by the hissing of burning wool where Techno had last seen Tommy’s tent the one time he visited. Explosion marks were littered everywhere. Ghostbur went and poked around the ruins curiously.

_Look_ said the voices in his mind cried. _See._

Techno looked, saw the smoke, the destruction, and was struck with the familiarity of a battleground. He gazed at the scene before him. But if it was a battleground, it was certainly missing—

Blood. On the grass. Techno crouched down and touched it, fresh on his fingers. Not warm, but fresh. Panic gripped his senses. Tommy had no way to make TNT, to explode things, Dream would never let him. So that had to mean someone else did this, and Tommy was in real peril.

He frantically went to scour the wreckage when Ghostbur called out. “Technoblade, why is Tommy laying asleep in the forest?” Techno’s eyes landed on the treeline, where his brother lay face first in the dirt between two trees, his wings looking strangely red on either side of him.

  
The legendary warrior raced toward his brother, and as he got closer, he froze in horror. Tommy’s wings weren’t on either side of him. So much blood was on the ground that it had merely looked like his russet wings were there. But his wings—where his wings used to be were two mutilated stumps on Tommy’s back, looking terribly, terribly severed. The wings were nowhere in sight.

Techno darted over Tommy’s prone form, staring at the gore before him in shock. Blood and feathers were all over the ground, and Techno saw two crossbow bolts in the trees next to him, each pinning a tuft of golden-red feathers.

_Blood blood blood blood blood_ The voices screamed, but not blood for violence. Because it was the only thing they saw; it was absolutely everywhere.

“ _Ghostbur!_ ” Techno shouted, his voice breaking as his fingers touched Tommy’s neck carefully. Techno let out a shuddering breath of relief when he found a weak pulse. When his ghostly brother neared, Techno pulled some bandages from his cloak. _It won’t be enough_. But it was better than nothing.

Ghostbur was just looking at Techno and Tommy. “T-Technoblade,” he pondered. “I know my memory is not good, b-but didn’t Tommy h-have wings?”

Technoblade winced. “He-he did Ghostbur, and now he doesn’t and we need to get him home as fast as we can _so please stop staring and get Carl_.” The ghost shuddered and floated speedily towards the horse. Techno cut off the crimson remains of Tommy’s shirt and tried not to look too closely at the viciousness of the wounds. He had an arrow shallowly dug into in his side, but not yet pulled, and the slices of blood where his wings were. Techno used all of the bandage and cut some of his own blue cloak to staunch the blood, tying bandages around his back and shoulders, praying to his god that they would hold on the ride back.

Staring at Tommy’s pale face, his anguished expression, the feather gripped tightly in his palm, Techno felt an unbearable wave of helplessness. He was a warrior, a fighter—he never was comfortable with the fear and worry having a family came with. And he didn’t stop his only living brother from being robbed of his favorite thing in the world, flight. The voices slipped into their comfort zone at that note. Someone did this to him.

 _Revenge_ , they whispered fiercely. _Blood for the Blood god_.

  
Adrenaline coursed through Technoblade’s veins, and he scooped Tommy up with the utmost gentleness, Tommy’s back facing up, and carried him to meet Ghostbur and Carl. He spurred his horse, and it rode like the wind, as if it knew the direness of the situation. As Techno held his half-dead brother in his arms and travelled home alongside his truly dead brother, he prayed and prayed that Tommy would make it back and Philza could heal him. Philza, oh Philza—their father would be devastated. The boys’ shared attributes to their father was their truest connection to him: Techno’s skill with fighting, Wilbur’s love of music, and Tommy’s ability to fly. Philza would feel this world-shaking anger, too. And the monster who did this to his baby brother would _pay_.

Technoblade didn’t feel the absence of the cloak he wrapped around Tommy when they hit the snow.

º-º-º-º-º

_(Tommy’s POV)_

Tommy wasn’t sure if he was dreaming when he stops falling. The grass below him was thick and rich, flowing in a nighttime breeze. Dream’s haunting voice had stopped echoing in his ears, and he felt the way he felt when he was young and with his family. Protected. Safe. Like maybe someone cared. But that’s how he knew it was a dream, because certainly no one cared about him in the real world.


	4. Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philza awakens in Technoblade's house to find it empty, seeing a note that indicated Techno and Ghostbur have gone to visit Tommy. As he awaits their return, he considers his past with his youngest son, and regrets not being there more often; he resolves to take the initiative to repair their bond.
> 
> But when Techno and Ghostbur return with a bloody bundle, he might be too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha another chapter out ;) I present ye angst lords with my work. I just felt a strong pull to keep writing. I started this fic because I wanted to read one like this, and I couldn’t find one. I read a quote once that said “Write the story you’ve always wanted to read” and it’s been absolutely POWERING me through writing this. Thank you guys for the kudos & kind comments. They mean so much to me! You guys are the best. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is lots of Phil & Tommy’s relationship and, of course, our beloved angst. Not much from Tommy in this chapter bc he is hella passed out :D I tried really hard to make this one longer than the last few.  
> The next chapter will likely be more SBI but then after that we’ll move in to my favorite: ~TUBBO ANGST~ yay!!! Pain!!!! Woohoo!  
> As usual, this chapter has blood and gore and injury descriptions in it, and mentions of panic attacks. Please read with discretion,  
> Also, please leave a comment about your thoughts/opinions/reactions below!! They help me so much and make me write better and feel happy <3  
> Enjoy!
> 
> ANGST FOR THE ANGST GODS
> 
> TW: Blood, Gore, Injury, mention of Panic Attacks

º-º-º-º-º

_(Tommy’s POV)_

It was that same dream of the duel. Tommy was standing with his bow drawn, Wilbur’s voice counting the paces. When he turned, Dream was standing there weaponless, again. He’d had this dream several times now. Except when the green-hooded warrior made his arrow vanish and took off his mask revealing Tommy’s own face, someone stepped next to Tommy. As Tommy’s wings vanished and his doppelganger went to push him off, the person who stepped beside him grabbed his arm. Tommy, dangling over the edge of the prime path over a void, stared into the masked eyes of his older brother, Technoblade.

Technoblade drew his sword, and pulling Tommy back onto the path, ran it through Tommy’s reflection dressed as Dream.

But when he went to thank Techno, he started coughing up blood. Where his brother had impaled his doppelganger, the wound had appeared in Tommy’s stomach as well. Falling to his knees, he cried out for help—

But Technoblade was too busy attacking Tommy’s reflection to notice, and Tommy tipped off the path into the void.

As he descended into nothingness, Tommy wondered what it might be like to hit the ground. And hoped he would soon.

≈~≈~≈~≈~≈

_(Philza’s POV)_

Philza woke up in his bedroom at the top floor of Techno’s house to the sound of rapid hoofbeats fading into the distance. _Techno must be going out,_ he thought. It wasn’t uncommon; his son was always going on solo quests and adventures, either to gather materials or raid some dangerous place. It helped him cool the cacophony of voices craving bloodlust in his head.

Philza stretched his great black wings, which were large enough to touch the rafters in his room, and looked out the window. Sure enough, there was a track of fresh hoof prints leading away from the home.

He descended the stairs to the main room, and found a note in Technoblade’s elegant handwriting folded on the spruce table.

_Gone to check on Tommy. Ghostbur came with. Be back soon. –T_

Phil frowned. Last he had heard, Tommy wanted nothing to do with Ghostbur, and even less to do with Technoblade. Maybe Tommy had a change of heart. But it wasn’t like Techno to ‘check in’ on anyone, and Philza was pretty sure Techno resented Tommy just as much as Tommy did Techno. Outside, the sound of snowbirds whistled by the window.

Now that he thought about it, Philza hadn’t seen or spoken to his youngest son much since they’d been in the Dream SMP. His relationship with Tommy had always been different from his relationship with Wilbur and Techno. Tommy was always so independent, confident, unwilling to confide in much anyone and even more unwilling to accept help. When Tommy was young and his wings had grown in fully, Philza was overjoyed to teach him about flying, to spend time with him in the night skies, staying up late teaching him flight combat and how to soar in turbulent winds.

But that had ended when Technoblade asked him to help set up an empire in the Artic, and the call of adventure pulled Philza away so strongly. He watched proudly as his warrior son became legend, leaving Wilbur to care for Tommy. A mistake, as when Phil and Techno returned, Wilbur and Tommy had dug themselves into a few wars, when Tommy was just sixteen. And Tommy hadn’t reached out, so Philza let him alone, let him be the independent ‘big man’ he wanted to be.

The first time Philza saw Tommy in person after dominating the Arctic with Techno was after Phil ran a sword through Wilbur’s heart. As Philza trembled, holding Wil’s body, he looked up through his tears to see Tommy fall to his knees at the edge of the crater in the middle of L’Manberg, the crater that had been Wilbur’s great crescendo, the finale of his symphony. Tommy looked so, _so_ much older, his blue eyes haunted, he’d grown taller, and his red-gold wings full and strong, dressed in full netherite armor. Yet as Phil’s eyes met Tommy’s across the crater, Philza saw a little boy watch the big brother who raised him die.

And since Philza didn’t know how to comfort Tommy, he didn’t. He stayed away. Which was definitely a mistake, since Tommy lashed out by burning George’s house down. And he was exiled without a single person on his side, Philza realized with a flash of guilt. He hadn’t even tried to visit his youngest, not once. Even when Ghostbur showed up at Techno’s house and told them that Tommy was doing _really badly, despite how much blue Ghostbur gave him._

When Techno and Ghostbur came back, Phil resolved that he would go visit, and try to build the bridge that he’d let collapse.

Less than an hour later, when Phil was sipping a fresh cup of tea, he heard the sound of hooves on snow. He walked over and leaned on the table, folding his wings, curious as to what Technoblade and Ghostbur had seen and heard.  
Then Techno burst through the door, his cloak wrapped into a bundle in his arms, Ghostbur worriedly trailing in behind. Philza’s eyebrows furrowed at Techno’s panicked expression, and stepped closer.

And he saw who was in that small bundle. And the blood. And a hole cracked in his heart when he saw what was missing.

The cup of tea slipped from his hand and shattered on the floorboards.

•••••

“So you just found him, alone, like _that_?” Philza’s words trembled as he worked on Tommy’s bandages. Every time his eyes scanned over Tommy’s mutilated back, he felt tears threaten to crest over his eyes. But he _would not, could not_ let his despair stop him from saving his son, who was in serious danger of bleeding to death.

“Yes, yes, with blood and feathers everywhere,” Techno said in an irritated, quick tone that meant he was really, really worried. The warrior kept pacing, pushing his hands over his ears every few seconds. _The voices must be going crazy_ , thought Philza as his hands flew over Tommy to remove the bandages around his shoulders.  
Techno hadn’t done a bad job on staunching the blood flow, but there was a lot more work to be done if Tommy was going to keep his last life.

“Get me more bandages, a hot blade, three healing potions, and three regeneration potions, Now.” Phil said, his voice cracking.

Ghostbur, who was doing his best to stay out of the way in the other room and was squeezing at least ten pieces of dark, indigo blue dropped the blue and raced over to the potions cabinet while Techno cut long bandages from a spool. They rushed the materials over to the large spruce table, which Tommy lay on face down on top of a white cloth. Blood was already turning the fabric crimson.

Philza, donned with clean gloves and his wings pulled back, ushered Ghostbur out of the room because he looked incredibly close to a panic attack, and kept Techno nearby. He applied two healing potions to his wing stubs, the worst of Tommy’s injuries, and the third to the small arrow wound in Tommy’s side, which he skillfully bandaged.

“Now,” he murmured, “for the hard part.”

Phil thanked the gods he’d forced Techno into having a fully stocked infirmary in his house as Techo brought over an IV for one of the regeneration potions and hooked it up to Tommy, the shimmering liquid flowing at a steady drip.

Potions were tricky work—too much could cause the reverse effect, and Tommy was going to need a lot. His pale body was riddled with dark bruises, and the damage on his back was terrifying. Whoever had done this had been brutal. The amputations of his wings weren’t even, and were definitely done without care, based on the messy lumps of feathery flesh left. Phil carefully applied the remaining regeneration potion to just the wing areas, fearful that anymore of the potion would kill his son. The regeneration effects usually worked quickly, but in this case, they were awfully slow. The flesh knitted at a snail's pace. He swallowed, and took the hot blade from the fire that was roaring across the room.

“Techno, we’re going to have to cauterize both of the wounds.” Phil cleared his throat. “I don’t think he’ll stay knocked out once we start. I’ll-I’ll need you to… to hold him down.”

Technoblade nodded, his clothes and mask still speckled with Tommy’s blood. At least he was comfortable enough with injuries to handle the gory sight before them. The warrior walked to the other side of the table, digging chains that were hanging in the kitchen into the wood and looping them around Tommy’s legs to keep them pinned. Then he moved to the front of the table, and placed his strong hands over Tommy’s forearms, taking a deep breath. He looked up at Philza and nodded.

The black-winged man lifted the steaming blade and hovered it over Tommy’s shoulder, then touched it to the wound.

  
When Tommy screamed, Philza couldn’t stop the tears that flowed silently down his face.

*~*~*~*~*

_(Ghostbur’s POV)_

Ghostbur couldn’t remember a lot about what Alive-bur was like, but he was pretty sure neither of them liked being useless.

He helplessly clutched the pieces of blue in his arms, which had gone from transparent to lapis faster than ever before. And he had ten pieces of them.

  
Ghostbur always tried to be happy, he really did. He wanted to fix whatever was wrong and make it right, determined to do better in the world than he had when he was living. But today, no matter how hard he tried, he could not bring the smile to his face, could not look for the positive, could not fall into the comfortable ignorance and innocence that came with his memory loss.

Outside, a light snow fell quietly in the bright sky, the land aglow in a thick coat of white. Ghostbur was curled in Techno’s doorway because he couldn’t bear to stay inside and _do nothing_ and see Tommy look so much _not_ like Tommy. He looked so small without his wings. The memories Ghostbur had of Tommy from when he was alive were nothing like that—the Tommy he knew was always loud and strong and confident, big-headed and never, ever helpless. But the Tommy that he saw in the house was, and Ghostbur was scared if he went in and saw Tommy die on that table his memories of the happy Tommy would go away and he would never have enough blue to keep himself happy.

  
Ghostbur wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the small snow clouds drifted away to escape the sun drenched sky. He thought at one point he heard screaming inside the house, but the noises were all blending together and he couldn’t bear to listen to them all so he just curled in on himself tighter. The blue in his hands had stained them, and had gotten on his yellow sweater. He knew that since he was a ghost he could just will the color to fade away, but he couldn’t bring himself to. The ghost floated up, and with a shudder, went back inside.

The clock on the wall noted that it had been three hours since Ghostbur and Techno had gotten back from the ruins of Logstedshire. Technoblade was sitting on the couch, his face in his hands, his famous pig mask removed and resting by his leg. His cloak was on a chair across the room, the navy and light blue color coated in crimson. Philza was sitting in a wooden chair next to the table, staring at Tommy’s form with hollow, dark eyes. In the white light streaming in through the window, his wings looked more gray than black. Tommy was half covered in white bandages, some of them already red. The drip of the regeneration potion trickled into his arm, casting a pink glow on Tommy’s face. It looked like he was fine, just sleeping when his face had that color again. But as he moved, Ghostbur could see how horribly pale his little brother was. He drifted to the table fearfully, a whisper of relief coating over him when he saw Tommy was breathing shallow breaths. His shoulders loosened slightly.

“I wouldn’t relax so soon, mate,” Philza muttered, his eyes glued to Tommy. “Even though we’ve stopped the blood and sealed the injuries, that doesn’t-doesn’t mean he’ll survive the night. We’ve still got to wait and see if he can hold on.” His voice was empty, flat. Dead.

Ghostbur didn’t know what else to do, so he pulled up a chair. He folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on them, and took out a clear piece of blue and touched it to Tommy’s lifeless hand. Within minutes, the crystal was a midnight shade of cobalt.

º-º-º-º-º

_(Tommy’s POV)_

The dream was just cycling, torturing him over and over again. After a while, Tommy stopped firing his bow and just let himself fall off the path into nothingness before the echo of Wilbur’s voice hit 10. Sometimes he walked over and handed Dream his bow and arrow before Dream could take of the mask to reveal Tommy’s face. He’d watched his wings vanish in that mist of blood a thousand times.

And yet, something about this time was different. Rather than stopping it early, he let his Dream-doppelganger taunt him and shove him.

But as he fell, his hand caught the edge of the wooden path. And held.

So he pulled himself back up.


	5. Touching the Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy wakes up. Something is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks, uh oh, looks like our boy is gonna wake up this chapter ;0 angst level is getting higher >:) Also, um, over 500 KUDOS? WHAT???? What! It may not seem like a ton based on some other fanfics on this site but THIS IS INSANE FOR ME! Holy crap—thank you guys!!!!! <3 
> 
> So, as a kind of ‘where things are going’ to get you all in the mindset I have for this fanfic, you’ll be getting some SBI this chapter, then some Tubbo and what’s up in L’Manberg next time, probably. And Dream’s coming back into the picture as well, since we can’t leave our main villain out for too long, or else, PFFT, the main characters might have the CHANCE to recover from their trauma and could stop being angsty! AS IF!!! 
> 
> Anyway, usual warnings apply: Blood, injury, but there’s also a panic attack and some PTSD in this one, so please read with discretion. Please leave a comment about what you think/feel/want/hate/love below!!!! They help me improve so I can write and cause more literary agony. <3
> 
> Enjoy! >:)
> 
> ANGST FOR THE ANGST GODS
> 
> TW: Blood, Injury, Panic Attacks, PTSD

.__________.

_(Dream’s POV)_

By the time Dream reached his prison, Pandora’s Vault, Tommy’s severed wings in a sack he lugged over one shoulder, he had begun to consider the fact that maybe, just _maybe_ , he really really fucked up.

There was the logic in his brain, the number one supporter of his decisions. Telling him he was right—Tommy was going to use those flashy wings to undermine him sometime, at some point. Dream just did the inevitable a lot earlier than he thought. He was surprised, as it was, that Tommy didn’t break sooner, that Tommy hadn’t tried to keep things from him from the start. Maybe he would have obeyed had Dream not pushed him so far. But there was no point in considering the ‘what ifs.’ What was done was done, the weight of feathers in a bag reminded him.

When he swiped his keycard through the prison entrance, he chuckled to himself quietly. _And Technoblade said that I didn’t have a home. Oh, how his silly little snowy cottage would tremble in comparison to my prison._

He nodded to Sam on his way in, who was in the foyer tinkering with some contraptions on the lockers. Sam waved in greeting, but the smile died as his eyes landed on the sack Dream had slung over his shoulder, which had some bloodstains leaking through.

But Sam was smart and didn’t ask questions, unlike the others, unlike the person Tommy used to be. Vaguely, then suddenly, he considered the fact that Tommy could very easily bleed out on the grass. Dream didn’t know anything about people with wings and how their bodies worked, but he was sure losing two enormous appendages would do some potentially fatal damage.

_If I go back_ , he thought, _I’ll have to help him. Or confront him._ And this time he was sure that if he looked into Tommy’s eyes, he’d see that beyond-destroyed look that he had only caught glimpses of. Because he took the only thing Tommy had that Dream didn’t.

He’d go visit Tubbo, see if that compass enchanted to follow Tommy was broken or not, because if it broke, it meant, well, that he’d have to tell Tubbo to organize a funeral, and explain a lot of shit the L’Manberg people couldn’t know.

  
He didn’t feel like worrying about that now. If Tommy was dead, one less concern for him. Dream ascended to the top level of the prison, above the inescapable chamber that was the main cell for The Prisoner, into his throne room. Behind it, his chambers. Even Sam couldn’t get into this room without Dream granting him access.

He dumped the sack on the floor in front of the throne, and took a look around at the gold-and-obsidian throne that domineered over the floor, which was a mixture of blackstone and glass that had lava under it, setting a bright golden hue in the room. It bounced nicely across the dark stones throughout the room. His eyes landed on the empty wall above his throne, and an idea of what me might do with Tommy’s wings popped into his mind. The room would complement the colors of those feathers nicely.

As he set to work, Dream’s smile matched the one carved on his mask.

º-º-º-º-º

_(Tommy’s POV)_

When Tommy woke up, he felt weightless. His blurry mind briefly registered the feeling of something in his arm, the sound of footsteps somewhere nearby. Something round and medal was digging into his sternum, and his fist was cramped painfully around something soft. His entire body felt numb. The right side of his face was pressing into the table underneath him.

As his eyes cracked open, he frowned. _I must be hallucinating. The tent doesn’t have walls, or support beams_. _Or a fireplace in the corner_.

The thoughts that had burrowed into his mind during each waking day of exile burrowed in. _What should I do today? Where’s Dream? I miss home. No, home doesn’t miss me. I want to fly in the daytime again, the nights are cold. ~~I miss my friends. I miss Tubbo.~~ Dream is my friend._

At the thought of Dream, though, the confusing headache was far more intense than usual. Tommy needed to clear his head. As he tried to rise up onto his forearms, a crashing pain from his back flooded every sense. He cried out, a near silent sound. As his nerves reeled in agony, he registered the footsteps from wherever he was rushing closer. He winced, worried Dream might come see him like this—

But it was not Dream who gracefully swept into his sight, but the last person Tommy expected to see.

“T-Techno?” He croacked, his throat aching like… like he’d been screaming. A throbbing memory tried to crest into his thoughts, but he pushed it back. Tommy blinked a few times, and sure enough, there was his warrior brother.

“Oh my god, Tommy,” Techno said, in a gentle tone Tommy hadn’t heard in a long time. “You’re awake.” His long pink hair was tied into a knot, and he was in a flowing white shirt and long black pants. He looked stupidly fancy, Tommy thought idly. Somewhere outside, he heard the clop of horse hooves in a stable.

Some of the nerves in Tommy’s head finally started connecting. He stayed put on the table, still waiting for whatever this excruciating feeling along his shoulders was to vanish. He must have taken a spill onto his wings. “Well, no shit I am, dickhead.” He mumbled, vaguely remembering he told Techno he’d kill him the last time the two brothers saw each other. _It’s embarrassing I can’t make good on that threat, god, what’s wrong with me right now—_

“Tommy” Techno started, his voice no longer gentle but still careful, as if Tommy were an animal easily scared. “How… how much do you remember from the last day?” He shifted so that he was sitting on a stool, just above eyelevel for Tommy, who had barely risen his head off the spruce wood.

Tommy coughed once, twice, his throat still aching strangely. “I don’t know idiot, maybe if I could get off this fuckin’ table and figure out why the hell I’m here I—” As he went to rise off the table again, he hardly heard Techno’s sound of warning. Because he could feel it missing. His soul. The feeling was more so the absence of one.

Pain laced down Tommy’s entire back as he rose fully onto his forearms, and stared at his reflection in the glass window inside Techno’s house. The memory came crashing in. The sore throat made sense. Shock reverberated down his spine. They were gone.

Techno’s voice was pained as he said something, but Tommy hardly heard it. _His wings_.

_Gone._

He remembered the feeling of them being gone for the first time, of falling onto a ground splattered with blood and feathers.

_Gone._

He remembered the hacking of a vicious axe.

_Gone_.

He remembered watching bolts go through his wings.

_Gone._

He remembered begging like never before to Dream, who was his friend but he wasn’t.

_Gone._

He rembered being shot down from the sky, hitting the ground hard.

_Gone._

He couldn’t remember what the last time, _the very last time_ he flew felt like.

His older brother raced to his side and held him as he started screaming. As the tears exploded down his face, as the wounds so carefully stitched and cauterized by Phil opened as he tried to touch what wasn’t there with his trembling hands. As Tommy stared at his fist and saw one of his beautiful feathers, the reddish color glinting with a gold sheen, still clasped there. As he passed out again, the thoughts that _he’d never fly again he’d never be anything again he’d never touch the stars again he’d never really be free again_ raced in his head. He might have been screaming _no no no_ but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that tears sparkled to Techno’s eyes for the first time in years. They were gone.

His mind slipped into oblivion, and Tommy wished that the arrow Dream had taken him out of the sky with had pierced his heart instead.

It would hurt infinitely less than this.

The next time Tommy woke, there was a pillow propping up his head. He was still laying with his back up. He was still empty.

Phil was there, looking at his youngest son through blurred eyes. A part of Tommy was happy he was there, another resentful his father took so long to show up. Most of him didn’t feel anything.

As Tommy shifted his weight, he realized that they must have upped his dose of healing potion or regeneration, because he couldn’t feel his back. Which was infinitely worse than the blinding pain, because the nothingness was more evident than ever without the stabbing hurt to distract him.

Tommy grit his teeth, and moved a hand down underneath him to pull out the metal digging in his chest. The compass. Tommy stared at it.

Tubbo had always been so fascinated by Tommy’s wings, had loved watching him fly. Once his friend ( _?_ ) even built a flying machine with Redstone so that he could touch the sky with Tommy. During the wars, he’d helped Tommy clean the blood out of his feathers, bandaged parts of his wings that had gotten caught in the crossfire. Now he’d never get to see them again. _Another reason for him to not want to visit me anymore. Great_. _That’s just fucking great_. The empty feeling in his chest tightened.

He heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and looked up. His eyes met Philza, saw his great black wings. Felt even more the hollow where he used to have his own. Tommy blinked at him and his father walked forward, crouching low before his son. The soft floorboards creaked as he kneeled.

“My son,” he said, his voice breaking in a whisper. “I-I am _so, so sorry_.” Phil reached out and held one of Tommy’s hands, the one that wasn’t clutching a single feather like a lifeline.

Tommy didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing at all.

•••••

A week later, Tommy let the others talk to him. He listened to Phil’s apologies. To Techno’s casual stories. To Ghostbur’s songs. He let Ghostbur offer him piles of blue. He watched them go about their day, sitting on the table, letting his mutilated back heal. Trying to forget what he had. Trying to pretend he wanted a future. He never said a word to any of them, and they didn’t push them to. He ate just enough, at Phil’s plea, as his malnourished body was making the healing much slower than it needed. He did exercises to stretch his arms, to move them without wanting to melt into himself because the weight of his wings were no longer there. For his family, who looked at him like he was a shattered bottle, he tried.

•••••

Tommy was going through blue like tissue paper. It usually took up to an hour for the transparency to change into the deep lapis shade of a single piece, but when Tommy held some, it went navy in just a few seconds. He’d had been trying his best to stop asking Ghostbur for it, but he always ended up with cobalt stained hands by dinnertime. And it didn’t seem to help at all.

•••••

One evening when his family headed to bed, Technoblade brought a lantern over in the dark house and sat beside Tommy. Each member of the house had been taking turns sitting at his side, watching him until sunrise.

As Techno sat, the light bounced off of his gilded mask. His eyes were impossible to see through the white mesh that covered them, making it seem as though he looked right through you. He cleared his throat.

“I know you might not be ready to talk,” he started carefully, his head turned slightly away from Tommy. “But I need you to answer me one question. It’s a painful one, and I want you to be ready. Do you think you can handle it?”

Tommy hesitated, then nodded. The moonlight danced through the glass panes of the windows, and the frigid air whistled by. He wished for the billionth time he could run outside and leap into the nighttime sky.

Techno let out a small sigh. “Tommy, did Dream do this to you?”

Emotions roiled in his head. _My friend Dream! My enemy. He cared about me. He tortured me. Dream, who visited you when no one else did. Who blew up everything you had. Who took both of your first two lives. Who gave you materials and spent time with you. Who liked talking to you. Who hated you. Who gave you a reason to live. Who chopped off the only thing you were living for._

The images flashed by. For a minute, he felt like his wings were there, phantom pains ripping through his back and his heart. Tommy had to take a deep steadying breath before responding. “Yes,” he said, his voice creaking from disuse the past few days.

Something flickered over Technoblade, and his shoulders tensed, then relaxed. He went to lean back in his chair, looking pensive, but then Tommy began to speak. Technoblade looked up in suprise.

“Do you know,” Tommy started. “why I always loved building those really tall pillars? The cobblestone ones?” Techno stared at him for a second, then snorted. “Because you like pretending an ugly structure like that is a ‘manly display of power?’” His grin seemed wary, like he was afraid his brother wasn’t ready for jokes.

Tommy laughed weakly. “No, no, really,” he shook his head, the amusement fading. “I always liked knowing that I could build up and touch the top of the world, jump off of it, and fly up even higher.” The words started to catch in Tommy’s throat. His brother was silent, his face turned slightly away. “I don’t expect you to understand, you’ve been at the top since day one.” His perfect brother, world-conqueror, legendary blood god; he’d never let himself into a situation like Tommy’s. He knew Techno would never let something so _fucking_ valuable be taken from his back if it were him. The ache on Tommy's shoulder blades sharpened.

Tommy murmured “I just liked knowing that even when I fell, I could always catch myself, and be even better than before after it.” Tears burned in his eyes, and he looked down. “I-I can’t _do_ that anymore.” He swallowed dryly. “And now, I…I still find myself _wanting_ to fall, to get that high up, but I know, I _know_ I don’t want to catch myself anymore. I _wouldn’t_ catch myself, if I was in the situation, because _I can’t and I don’t want to be here anymore_. _”_ The words blazed like fire in his mouth. Tommy had never opened up to Techno like this, not once. But he had nothing left to lose: not his discs, not his friends, not his wings, not his pride…

His throat ached with tears. He glanced up at Techno, expecting to find the unyielding emotionless wall that was his brother’s masked face. Instead, he heard a click, and felt a glimmer of surprise in the void of his heart as he watched Techno take off the graceful pig mask he wore constantly. Tommy stared into the face, the eyes he hadn’t seen since he was very little.

And he stared at the scars around his eyes, his cheeks, scars that stretched and grabbed the back of his jawline. The marks of experimentation and violence that shaped Technoblade into the fighter he was today; these were the marks that no one saw.

Techno grabbed Tommy’s hand. For the first time since he arrived at the snowy house, Tommy sat up. Their eyes met, fading blue to the dark eyes of a mortal god, and Techno said, “I understand.” 

The broken boy on the table stared at his big brother, and threw himself into tight, trembling hug. And Techno hugged him gently back, infinitely careful of Tommy’s wounded back.

Tommy let out a watery laugh through his tears. “Hah, god, Techno, you smell awful,” he tried.

And Techno let out a sad, quiet laugh, too, hope fluttering in his chest.

Because for the first time since Tommy had been exiled, his older brother saw a glimpse of that smiling child he used to be. 

«~«~«~«~«

Miles and miles away, the young president of a war-torn country stared at an enchanted, engraved compass.

***  
Edit: Hi guys, so I know I said tomorrow or the day after for the next chapter, but it might be a bit longer. I feel like I'm speed running the story because I'm excited about it and as a result the work is losing some of its quality. Since the next chapter is our lil Toob, I want to spend some extra time making sure I'm happy with the chapter and it's meaningful and not just waves of angst that get repetitive before just sending it out as soon as I'm done. Sorry to make you guys wait longer than usual :(


	6. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L'Manberg is at peace. Tubbo feels more awful than ever. After a strange meeting with Dream, he goes to visit Tommy. When he gets there, the sun doesn't rise again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW THERE IS A LOT TO READ HERE AND AT THE END BUT PLEASE READ BEFORE GOING INTO THE CHAPTER :)
> 
> I bow low before your altar, O angst lords, ladies, and non-binary legends, and present you with my gift: ~~Tubbo angst~~ yayyyy! This chapter is a LONG BOI. It took a lot of time to write, so I hope you enjoy: Our favorite soft, kindhearted, traumatized boy is going to suffer! It hurts because he is so young to have so much baggage but for some reason we all flock to it like creatures to an oasis, so I give you my best. Sorry this one was more delayed than usual. 
> 
> Lol I was looking through what people had named some of their bookmarks on this fic and I saw one that was just “CRYING” and another that said “THE angstiest winged tommy au I’ve ever read” and I laughed hehe. But for real, reading your all’s comments makes my day. :)
> 
> Thank you guys so, so much for the support. Like, last chapter I was just cresting 500 kudos, and y’all got me to over -700- since!? WHAT! And almost 5,000 Hits?!?!? WHAT!! THANK YOU!!!! Even if it was just one or two of you interested in what I had to write, I’d still be here, and I’m honored so many of you care enough to get past Chapter 1! <3 
> 
> Also, how are we feeling about the way the fic is formatted? Do we like the little *~*~* / º~º~º character-specific headings and (XXX’s POV) at the top? Do we hate them? Do we like how things are spaced out, or are they too close together? Do you guys want more indenting or less, or the same? PLEASE let me know so I can make the story easier for you to read. 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment below with your thoughts/reactions/opinions. It helps me know what you like/don’t like and helps me improve as a writer! 
> 
> Enjoy the angst, you little angst gods. 
> 
> TW: Nausea & Vomit, PTSD, Blood, Implied Death

†~†~†~†~†

_(Sam’s {awesamdude’s} POV)_

Sam wiped a hand over his sweaty brow, letting out a long sigh. He’d spent the last few days working nonstop on the prison, per Dream’s request, heaving obsidian and blackstone inside and outside of the domineering structure. One of his greatest projects, one he was rewarded for handsomely—and yet, he was not allowed to know what… _who_ it was for.

As he resolved to finish off the insulation of one wall before calling it a night, a small _ping!_ lit up his communicator. Stowing his tools in a locker, he opened up the message.

_Dream: Come to the front of my chambers. I’ve unlocked the door for you._

The builder felt a chill wash over him, despite being hot from working all day long. Dream rarely asked for his presence, and Sam only requested an audience from him if he had a question or new idea to reinforce the prison. He picked up his armor from the locker room, which he would have taken with him anyway, but not necessarily worn home. While he was building for Dream and they _were_ on good terms… well, he knew of the masked speedrunner’s reputation, heard rumors of what he could do. Better safe than sorry.

Before he could psych himself out too much, Sam slid his ornate sword into his scabbard and walked swiftly through the prison (Dream didn’t like to be kept waiting). The inventor made his way deeper into the dusky halls of the building, finally ascending the stairs above the main cell into Dream’s ‘ _chambers._ ’ When Sam called it his lair or his throne room, Dream would shake his head, insisting that saying it like _that_ made him sound like a _scary,_ _imposing,_ and _threatening_ ruler. As if the fully enchanted netherite armor, wicked serrated weapons, and legendary reputation didn’t.

Taking a deep breath, Sam stepped on the pressure plates, and a seemingly empty wall cracked open into a gilded room of black and gold, glowing eerily with the luminous magma entombed in the floor. The entrance, one that that would only open when someone was seated on the throne.

Dream was lounged on the great chair at the center of the chamber, spinning the handle of his enchanted axe with one hand. He looked up, his mask shining strangely in the warped light of the room.

“Sam!” he greeted, an eager note evident in his voice. It was unnerving. Sam’s armored boots echoed loudly as he walked inside. “Hey, Dream,” he started, unsure of whether he was here to be praised or admonished or executed. “What’s up?”

Dream leaned backward, his posture casual as he slumped on the rich material of his seat. “Oh, nothing much, just wanted to see how things were going. Updates, any problems you’re facing, any new ideas?”

Sam blinked, pushing down a flicker of annoyance. _He could’ve just looked at the report log I’ve posted every day for him in the lobby_ , _but this is definitely better than being on the end of his sword_. “O-oh, sure. I finally got the rotating keycard system working, so that the keycard necessary can be changed or swapped out in the event that a card somehow _does_ get stolen, which is seriously unlikely, but the redstone wiring is all done and so the doors and lockers are now more secure than ever. Plus…”

As he rambled on about what he’d done that day, Sam could feel that _waiting_ in the air. Like Dream hadn’t called him in here to hear about his progress. Like he was waiting for Sam to notice something. Dream’s fingers tapped the arm of his chair rhythmically. “—and once we get the guardians in…” his voice trailed off, and he glanced up at Dream, folding his arms. “What is it?”

“That’s great Sam, no, really great. Keep on going, yeah.” Sam hesitated, surveying the room. Dream was acting _really_ strangely, and he was already a strange guy. He watched the green-hooded man incline his head ever so slightly. Sam looked up.

And saw them.

Splayed out like some twisted, revolting laurel crown on the obsidian wall above the throne was a pair of crimson wings, the gold highlights between feathers glinting in the damp light.

Only two people in all of the Dream SMP had wings. Philza, who had black wings.

And Tommy, whose wings were red.

The memory of Dream coming into the prison, seeming contemplative, hauling a bloody bag with him flashed in Sam’s mind.

The wings were expanded and flared, like they were preparing to take flight. The moving shadows and lights of lava in the walls gave off the illusion that they were dripping with blood.

It took Sam a moment before he could form words, his jaw slack. “You—he—these are—”

Dream tilted his hidden face upward, as if he were just noticing his gruesome décor for the very first time. “Ah, admiring the new addition to my chambers, are you? Just finished putting those up. I have to admit, they add so much depth to the room, don’t you think?”

Sam swallowed, his mouth dry. _Tommy’s wings_. Cut off, and hanging like a war prize above the head of the most powerful person on the server. _Wasn’t Tommy in exile?_ But he remembered those late nights working inside the prison when Dream would come in, muttering about Tommy doing something stupid, muttering that Tommy was wearing Dream’s patience thin. Muttering that he’d have to ‘teach him a lesson’ soon. And Sam had thought nothing of it, because Tommy was miles and miles away and was always causing trouble and _really, what was the worst Dream would to_ _the kid?_ Disgust and rage burned in his gut. He was going to throw up. He was going to pass out. He was going to put his sword through Dream’s _fucking_ _neck_.

But he was watching Sam with those unreadable, porcelain eyes. So Sam schooled his features into what a neutral look, and with nausea burning in his stomach, pretended to nod appreciatively.

“It goes well with the coloring. It’s a nice touch.” He hoped Dream didn’t detect the tiny tremor in his voice.

Dream studied him for a moment, then let out a small laugh. “Yeah, yeah it is. Anyway, just wanted to check in. Have a nice night, Sam. Watch out for creepers on your way back.”

  
He winced, inclining his head in parting, then exited the room in a manner that he hoped didn’t seem too rushed. The moment he was outside the grand obsidian walls, Sam threw himself around the corner, fell to his knees, and vomited.

Inside the dim building, the man on the throne smiled as he plotted his meeting with the president of a nearby country.

«~«~«~«~«

_(Tubbo’s POV)_

_(the one you’ve all been waiting for ^-^)_

Tubbo couldn’t believe he was only seventeen.

It just made absolutely no sense—he’d fought in not one, not two, but _three wars,_ helped build a nation, watched it fall, built it again, helped his friend run for president, then got appointed president himself. He’d killed and fought and cried and screamed and watch his world blow up countless times.

And somehow he was barely _seventeen years old?_

Outside of his small residence in the white house, Tubbo heard the rhythmic tune of L’Manberg waking up. Feet clambering on spruce walkways, the gentle flow of water against stilts. Cheerful greetings, the sounds of doors opening.

Instead of going outside, he sat there for a moment, waiting; waiting for the bombs to go off, for the sound of fireworks bursting against armor, for the sound of screaming. It never came. And it wouldn’t, but that didn’t stop him from being afraid every morning that destruction would come bursting back to their doorstep. Shaking back the painful memories, the president donned his crisp tailored jacket and stepped out into the frigid morning air.

The lanterns Ghostbur made hung low in the waking sky, gently floating in place despite the light wind. He saw Niki and Fundy greet one another by the Camarvan, the former holding fresh baked goods in her hands. Atop the hill, he saw Quackity returning from a walk along the Prime Path. He took a long, deep breath. It was quiet. Relaxed. Happy. Peaceful.

And yet he was more miserable than ever. He didn’t want the silence, the lack of playful bickering all the time, the crushing stillness. He wanted to turn around and see Wilbur telling him what tasks he wanted Tubbo to do for him, to see Eret (before the betrayal) working on the farms that nestled against the hillside. He wanted to see the old walls scrape the sky, not the slowly-disappearing obsidian threat that had been forced around the nation.

Most of all, he wanted to see _Tommy_.

Tubbo missed him _so much_. He found himself waiting to hear his loud, joyful laugh. He yearned to go get into trouble over silly accidents and pranks. He longed to go on a walk about the server and to listen to the discs on the bench as the sun scraped the horizon. He missed those sunsets they watched together because sunsets alone aren’t the same. Most of all, he missed looking into those blue eyes that glittered with the air of adventure and feeling like he was home.

Without his best friend, Tubbo felt like L’Manberg was just a place he was visiting, a trip he had gone on and stayed for too long. A husk. It wasn’t the same. Nothing was the same. His fingers trailed to touch a compass around his neck, before remembering with a pang of guilt that he’d lost it to a charged creeper when working on his ocean project with Sam. The lack of its familiar weight was still disorienting.

_Stupid. Clingy. Idiot._ The thoughts and haunting voice who said them slipped easily into his stream of thoughts.

But that was no way for a leader to be thinking, so he straightened his tie and walked toward the waking town.

He passed Ghostbur’s sewer, and a frown tugged on his lips. _Ghostbur hasn’t been back in a while. I hope he’s with Tommy._ The door was cracked open, so he clicked it closed. Ghostbur wouldn’t want anyone rummaging around while he was away.

While he walked along the weaving path between buildings, the president took out a notebook and stared at his to-do list.

  * _Finish taking down festival games that were outside the walls Dream put up_
  * _Meet with Dream_
  * _Ask Dream about when the last chunk of his walls will be gone_
  * _Formalize and publish new laws in a public area_
  * _Take down Techno’s execution stage_ ( _yikes)_
  * _Figure out B.A situation._
  * _Regulate farmland into one area_



The list went on, most of the other bullet points just small maintenance things he could get Fundy or Quackity to help with. His eyes landed on the very last bullet point, the bullet point he’d written every morning on every single daily to-do list and failed to do completely:

_…_

  * _visit Tommy_



A voice in his head that sounded a lot like Tubbo’s ‘president voice’ whispered: _As if he’d want to see you. After what you did to him._ He snapped the journal shut. He had things to do. He had a meeting with Dream that the speedrunner had arranged, likely about the removal of the obsidian walls. He’d have to give Quackity some of the things off his list since he expected the gathering to last awhile.

Tubbo met Quackity along the path, who seemed concerned Dream wanted to meet the president alone.  
“He could literally kill you like _that_ ,” he snapped his fingers. “Tubbo, I know you’re not necessarily on bad terms with him, but—” Quackity’s voice dropped into a whisper, “— _he’s still on the hit list, Tubbo._ ”

Tubbo felt a string of worry spool in his gut. Ever since Techno had taken one of his Vice President’s lives after his failed execution, Quackity had been a lot more on edge, especially regarding Dream. The brunette shifted his posture into what he hoped looked like a confident stance.

“Big Q, I’ll be fine. Dream’s still our friend—he respects L’Manberg and its laws. He even takes off his armor when he’s inside the country. He respects _us_. Plus, the meeting is in the Holy Land. It’s no biggie.”

Something flickered in Quackity’s eyes, which was unnerving—when Techno killed him with a pickaxe, he’d left a long scar down his face, starting above his left eyebrow and ending at his lips. One of his eyes was a scarred gray color (he could still see out of it, thanks to the respawn that instantly followed the injury). His friend shot Tubbo a crooked smile, revealing the canine tooth missing on the left side of his mouth. “Whatever you say, man. I’ll start getting some people on the farms and to help me take down the stage. Good luck with Dream.” Then Big Q hesitated, glancing at Tubbo’s face warily, some of his cocky demeanor fading. “A-and… tell him to tell Tommy that I say hi, alright?”

He turned away in time to miss Tubbo’s wince.

The meeting was arranged in the room he’d made for the discussion of Tommy’s crime when he burned George’s house down. Since it was on the Holy Land, Tubbo didn’t bother bringing much with him aside from his journal and some food. As he made his way toward the building, he glanced at Church Prime. He hadn’t been into the sacred space in a while; the last he’d been there was when Tommy joked about being an angel, flaunting his wings in the rafters, and Tubbo had to wrangle him down before anyone caught them. His fingers went to his sternum. He missed his compass.

Dream was inside when Tubbo opened the door, fiddling with a piece of obsidian.

“Hello Dream,” Tubbo said politely, extendeding a hand.

“Tubbo, good to see you,” the other man replied, shaking his hand with a firm grip. “Shall we get down to business?”

They spent the next hour talking about borders between the Dream SMP and L’Manberg, Dream’s progress on removing the wall, and on how they could create a trade system based on which biomes were closest to which country. Towards the end of the meaning, Dream threw an odd question at him.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask, do you still have that compass thing Ghostbur made you? Does it still work?” Tubbo shook his head, the corner of his moth tilting downward. “No… I actually just recently lost it to a charged creeper, but it was working fine before the explosion. My mistake for always keeping it in my hand; why do you ask?”

Dream’s posture appeared to sharpen for a moment, then he shrugged. “Oh, no reason. I was just curious to see if it was still functioning since Tommy burned his a while ago. I don’t know much about how compasses like that work, but I assumed yours would’ve stopped working since they were linked.”

Hurt smashed into Tubbo’s heart. _He burned it?_

Tubbo blinked, letting the words flow over him, giving himself a moment to be surprised, before composing himself again. “W-well, guess we’ll never know.” The words sounded distant, cold. He swallowed before asking, “How is he, by the way? To be honest, I was really surprised when you said he didn’t want to come for Christmas... I thought that no matter how he felt about me, he might want to see some other people around here.”

Dream brushed some dust off of his green cloak. “He’s good. Was acting really weird the past few days, though. He kept on saying stuff about ‘nothing being worth it’ and rambling on about how maybe he ‘was never meant to be.’” His fingers did air quotes as he mimicked Tommy talking. “Thought that was Eret’s line—or was it Wilbur’s?” Tubbo tightened his hand into a fist to keep from wincing. “Anyway, when I visited a couple days ago he was talking to himself and seemed lonely.” He paused in a rather calculated way. “Maybe… you should visit him, Tubbo.”

The president of L’Manberg blinked, surprised. “Um, yeah. I actually have Big Q doing most of my tasks today… maybe I should.”

Dream tilted his head, and Tubbo caught the flash of grinning teeth under his mask. “I think he’d like that. I think he wants to see you.” _Even though he burned his compass?_ “Anyway, nice meeting with you, Mr. President.” They shook hands, and Dream left with a flare of his jade cloak, leaving Tubbo alone with his thoughts.

_Maybe… maybe he burned the compass because he was tired of knowing where I was and not being with me, the way I felt when I still had my compass._ Yeah. That had to be it. Dream had no reason to lie about it, and there was nothing keeping Tubbo from visiting Tommy in their agreement.

For the first time in months, genuine, rich joy sputtered inside of him. _He wants to see me. He wants to see me!_ Tubbo picked up his journal and donned the jacket he had taken off during the meeting, running at full speed towards the portal hub. _He wants to see me!_

As the tickling, warped feeling of travelling through dimensions washed over him, nervousness and excitement shot through Tubbo as he raced faster and faster through the hazy Nether toward Logstedshire. He could already see it, Tommy’s look of surprise when Tubbo would run through the portal. Hear the apology tumble off of his own lips. Feel Tommy’s wings circle around him as they had one of those tackle-hugs they loved so much. Finally. Finally. Finally.

After making his way as fast as possible over precariously built bridges _(Tommy always loved his bridges so much, he’s still my Tommy),_ Tubbo burst through the portal, his eyes flying left and right, looking for his best friend in the whole world, and he turned and—

Craters. Where Logsted should be. Where the burnt remains of a tent lingered. Fear coiled in his gut. _What?_ “What happened?” He whispered aloud, breathless. The excitement was easily bending into panic.

Then he saw it.

The stain of blood and feathers on the ground, days old but still violent to behold.

The pillar, shooting up into the sky, a pillar that only had one way down.

It took him a second, then another.  
  
Perhaps if the tears had spilled over his eyes a moment later, he would have seen the signs in the grass by the trees of a body that was dragged and lifted on a horse and brought away toward the taiga. Would have seen that his best friend was not truly gone.

But the tears clouded his sight, for his emotions were rolling strong, and he felt the words “ _Surely not…”_ scrape his throat as they fell into the night air. His heart hammered dangerously fast in his heaving chest.

He hadn’t noticed it was raining in Logstedshire. It wasn’t raining in L’Manberg.

_He was too late._

_Too late._

_Tommy was dead._

_His best friend was_ dead. 

_He as good as killed his best friend._

_He was a murderer._

_Tommy was gone._

All of the light vanished. The universe had become a cosmic boneyard, strewn with the remnants of dead stars. 

Tubbo didn’t realize he’d fallen to his knees and that he’d been screaming, sobbing until his voice could go on no more, curled into a ball, the icy chill of night interrupted with a blade of sun hitting his eyes. He didn’t care.

For Tubbo, the sun had disappeared forever.

`~`~`~`~`

_(Technoblade’s POV)_

Even though Technoblade was pretty sure Tommy was starting to get better, physically and mentally, he had never seen his adventurous, boisterous brother so quiet in all his life. While he did talk more than in the first week he’d been at the house, he was just… so much _quieter_. His fingers didn’t twitch in that jittery little way they always did, like he was itching to go cause trouble. His eyes didn’t sparkle like he wanted to see the whole world anymore. Technoblade couldn’t bear it, because even when he was talking to Phil, even when Ghostbur cracked a joke or played a song, the silence was world-shatteringly loud.

He watched Phil help Tommy stretch his shoulders without opening his wounds to get used to mobility without wings. It must have been strange, to move your shoulder and not have the weight of feathers affecting the movement, a complete shift in gravity. Techno caught that vacant look in Tommy’s eyes… they weren’t as blue as they used to be. The longer the warrior watched his younger brother, the louder the voices in his head shouted, the roar rising in his ears. He turned his back as his vision tinted red, trying to reel in the wave of _violence_ that barreled through him.

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_Our baby bird will never fly again :(_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD._

_TECHNOKILL_

_KILL THE GREEN DEAMON_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_HE DID THIS._

_E_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_DREAM MUST PAY._

_KILL HIM._

And for once, Technoblade was more than happy to answer their wishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Just in case it’s unclear, Dream visited Logstedshire between this chapter and the last and built the pillar to make it look like Tommy took his own life since he couldn’t find Tommy.)
> 
> If there are typos I'm sorry I wanted to get this out since I promised it would come out around now. Sorry for the pain. At least its late so you can cry yourself to sleep :D But for real, I hope you enjoyed. Sorry the spacing & indenting is off on this, the paste from my word doc to ao3 messed it up. New chapter up sometime in the next few days :) Anyway I'm exhausted gn <3
> 
> EDIT:  
> Hi it’s me again, two things:
> 
> 1\. Techno’s voices are very fun to write  
> 2\. Since the next chapter won’t be up at least until Saturday, two angst-filled godly-written SMP fanfics you should read are:  
> \- “Dollhouse” by Lacy_Star (IM OBSESSED WITH IT AND THEY SAID THEY INTEND TO CONTINUE IT SO PLEASE SHOW IT SOME LOVE) 
> 
> -and a rly good Techno in prison fic called “the inner mechanism of a black box” by Bee_4. PLEASE CHECK THEM OUT AND GIVE KUDOS THEY ARE AMAZING ♥️♥️♥️


	7. Standing Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo came back with the news, broken. Ranboo isn't so sure what they saw was the truth. In a snowy biome far away, Tommy has nightmares and someone new visits the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings my dear readers,
> 
> I can’t believe how much this fic has grown… over 950 kudos and over 7,600 hits? I have no words. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 
> 
> LOOK I GOT IT UP BY SATURDAY (for me) I DID IT 
> 
> Anyway, I’ve got a spicy one for you today. This was not my favorite one to write because it’s in between two MAJOR events. Not my best writing but oh well! Earlier in the fic, I was trying to keep some canon twined in with my plot, but you’ll see less of that as we move forward because of all the stuff I have planned so yeah.
> 
> ALSO, note: I’ve been made aware that my little swirly/dash headings over each POV are not friendly for those who use screen readers. I am so sorry I did not know about this sooner, and I have changed it to the lines that ao3 has to separate my POVs, and I still say whose POV it is at the start of each section. Please let me know readers if there is anything I can do to make reading my fic easier. Please leave a comment on your thoughts! 
> 
> Let’s dive in. This one is longer. ANGST FOR THE ANGST GODS. 
> 
> TW: Flashbacks, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Mentions of implied suicide, Blood.

* * *

_(Ranboo’s POV)_

Ranboo turned to a fresh page in his book of memories. His hand shook a little as he wrote:

_Tommy is dead._

His quill was digging into the paper, the ink blotting as he finished the last letter of his statement.

_Tubbo found a splash of blood and feathers next to a very tall pillar at Logstedshire. He thinks Tommy jumped. It looks like Tommy jumped. I don’t know. I have not visited Tommy in a while._

_L’Manberg preparations for the festival have stopped. They are preparing Tommy’s funeral. They want me to say some words, since I visited him in exile. He did not seem okay in exile. I do not think they want to hear about that, so I will say nice things._

He looked at the page, a quiet sigh escaping his nose, then scribbled down:

_Tubbo is not okay. Tubbo is a friend. I want to help him._

The half-enderman winced, and tucked his small book into his coat pocket. Tommy’s funeral was tomorrow, and he needed to go help out with the arrangements. Something was nagging at him, though. Something didn’t feel right about this situation, but when did a situation where someone killed themselves ever feel right?

Ranboo went through his chests, looking for flowers. He thought Tommy would have liked red. Due to the president’s current… state, the other members of the cabinet and Tubbo’s friends were doing most of the preparations. Tubbo had been sealed in his office, only coming out to hold the country afloat with a few orders. Despite his memory problems, Ranboo could still remember finding out from Tubbo what happened:

_Ranboo had just stepped through the nether portal that went into Logstedshire. He had heard from Dream that Tubbo had went to see Tommy, and realized he wanted to visit Tommy, too. He wasn’t sure why it wasn’t written down in his memory book that he needed to visit Tommy; he was sure he would have planned to keep visiting. Ranboo looked around, feeling cold rain sprinkle his head and winced, ducking under a tree._

_Then he saw the pillar._

_Tubbo was crouched before it, curled into a ball, violently shaking. Ranboo rushed over. “Tubbo…” he started. “What happened?”_

_Tubbo didn’t move, didn’t look away from the spot he was staring at across from him. “He jumped,” the president whispered. “He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.”_

_As Ranboo’s eyes landed on the mess of blood and feathers on the ground, it didn’t take long for him to piece it out. Grief ripped through him, and he felt tears climbing up his throat. But looking down at his brunette friend, he needed to be the strong one right now, for once. His friend had been there for him countless times, a figure to lean on; the least he could do was be there now._

_He gently touched Tubbo’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of the rain.” Tubbo flinched, his frozen state breaking. “I-I need to get the feathers Ranboo, T-Tommy hated when they got wet, I need to keep them clean for him I need to make sure they don’t get damaged Ranboo, I-“ his voice broke as fresh sobs racked over his small frame, his hands trembling as he crawled forward to pick up wet, russet feathers stained with dark blood that was slowly rinsing off because of the rain. Ranboo didn’t say anything, just helped Tubbo gather the feathers. As he went to scoop up some under a tree, he saw a strange puncture mark in the trunk. A clump of feathers was indented into it, like someone had pinned them to the bark then taken the pin out. Ranboo brushed it off._

_Collecting the feathers seemed to give the young president the ability to function again. He stood on shaky legs, his hands filled with ruddy plumage. Ranboo put an arm around his shoulders and led him toward the portal. As they went through, his eyes landed on the now-empty site of the death just between two trees. The shadow of the pillar spliced between them like a knife. A strange feeling crept into his mind, and they went home._

Ranboo shook himself, the pain of the memory sharp and fierce. There was work to do. The feeling nagged at him. The strangeness of the death, the trees, the pillar, the feathers and blood everywhere. The way the grass under the scattered feathers was crushed and folded over—

Outside, he heard Fundy call to him and knock on his door. As he stood up from the chest to leave, he realized what that feeling was. A gasp left his throat, and he quickly took out his journal before it could slip out of his grasp, his pen flying across the parchment:

_I do not think Tommy is dead._

* * *

_(Tommy’s POV)_

Tommy was dreaming. _(He internally winced at the word,_ dreaming, _a painful name intertwined in the word-)_ He knew this because he was smiling and because he still had wings. Bleak wind was blowing against the old blackstone walls Eret built for L’Manberg. Tommy was perched on top, his wings slightly flared. He was wearing his old uniform. Within the walls, noises of post-war construction and new begginnings floated up into the air. Behind him, he heard the sound of someone climbing up the ladder.

“Hey Tom,” said Tubbo, heaving himself over the last rung. “What’s up?”

Tommy flashed his friend a grin. “Just lookin’ around. Making sure that green bastard isn’t trying to pull any last minute shit. I dunno, he’s pulled stuff last minute before. I know everything is good and signed, but—”

“But it’s hard to break habits, yeah.” Tubbo finished. His eyes glinted as he looked over the land. _Their_ land. Inside the wall, Niki was happily chatting to Wilbur about making a bakery, pointing out the small hill where she might make it. The wind picked up, Tommy tugged his revolutionary coat around him, a wing spreading out to block the wind from hitting Tubbo.

“Thanks,” his friend smiled. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you Tommy—I know not many people have said something because, uh, well the duel wasn’t _exactly_ in your favor,” Tommy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” Tubbo continued: “B-but what I wanted to say Tommy, is thank you.” Tommy stared at him, a disbelieving snarl etched into his face. “What?”

“I know people thanked you for giving up your discs, but no one thanked you for dying for us in the first place because you lost. It was self-sacrifice, man, that’s big. Seriously, thank you.”

Tommy blinked, ruffling his wings, the gold more pronounced in the beaming sun. No one had thanked him for that before. No one had asked him if he was okay after dying, after giving up his second life in a duel he went into knowing he probably wouldn’t win. No one knocked on his door after his hard respawn to see if he was the same as before. Everyone just added it to the list of his screw-ups and made fun of him, stopping when he gave up his discs.

His eyes stung. “Fuck, Tubbo, stop being all sentimental and shit,” he wiped the tears away furiously. “Really, it was nothing, I’m glad we got our fuckin’ country up somehow after that mess.” Tommy looked at him again. “We’ll be better than Dream’s shit land could ever be.”

Tubbo smiled at him sadly. “Too bad you won’t be around to see it.” Tommy turned to him. “What?”

He stared at his best friend; to his horror, it was Dream standing there. “Oh Tommy, did you really think anyone would _thank you_ for fucking up the most important duel of your life? Did you think you’d get to stay here forever? You grew up in war and you know nothing but violence. How can you even _exist_ when nothing is wrong?”

Terror washed over him. “Dream, I-I—” His breaths were escaping his chest far too quickly. The walls of L’Manberg closed in on him, and sounds of peace evaporated into the crashing waves of a beach hundreds of miles away. Suddenly, he was in the crater where Logsted used to stand.

The white mask was blinding in the cold light. Icy fear was paralyzing him, keeping his wings pinned and his feet nailed to the ground. 

“Now,” said Dream, pulling out TNT in his left hand and a flint and steel in his left, “Drop your wings in the hole.” Next to Tommy’s feet, a hole was dug impossibly deep into the earth. “What do you mean, I can’t j-just drop them, they—”

But he heard a thump, and his wings had fallen clean off of his back. “Good” Dream murmured. “Now throw them in.” Blood pouring out of his back, Tommy stumbled back to pick each one up. They were so much heavier than he remembered. Tommy gripped them, soft feathers brushing shaking fingers, and dropped them into the pit.

Then Dream was behind him: a push, and he was falling into the hole, too. “Nobody needs a bird with no wings,” he called down the pit as Tommy fell down, down, _down…_

…

Tommy woke up, his face damp with tears. A nightmare, again, just like every night. _But this one was worse_ , he thought, _because you believed you were there. You believed you were with Tubbo, and thought like an idiot that anyone might thank you for failing to win a stupid duel. That someone might care how much it hurt. Childish. Stupid. Idiot. And now you’re nothing._

“Tommy? Are you okay?”

Tommy realized he was hyperventilating. The sheets clenched into his hands were shaking. He sat up on the bed tucked in the corner of Techno’s storage room, wincing. “It’s fine, Ghostbur, I-I just had a nightmare.” His voice sounded hollow.

The ghost floated over. His cheerful smile looked pained. “Techno said that if you said you were fine while he was gone getting wood you might be lying and not be fine. Are you sure?”

Irritation shot through him. Nothing like the old fire he used to know so well, fire that would spit out in a stream of curses and silly insults. It was cold. “I’m fuckin’ fine, Ghostbur. I just need a sec.”

As Tommy rose from the bed, his back was wracked with fresh spasms of pain. He grit his teeth. Since he woke up, he rejected the health potions Phil made because they made him feel nothing and that only reminded him that he had nothing anymore. The stumps of his wings felt more evident than ever when he couldn’t feel anything.

He buried his head in his hands for a moment, pushing back the wall of agony that sent memories rolling into his head, then stood.

“Yay, Tommy!” said Ghostbur. “You stood up today! That’s much better than yesterday. Since you’re feeling okay, do you want to do some physical therapy for your shoulders? Techno left me a list of things you could do and Phil’s asleep from staying up with you all night, so—”

“Not really, Ghostbur,” the irritation from earlier faded to a familiar, empty ache. Despite his body’s recovery from the trauma and extreme blood loss, and all the efforts Tommy was taking to get better, he felt horrible. He hadn’t been outside since he’d got there because he was too afraid to look at the sky again and know he couldn’t climb up and hide in it.

His hands brushed the leather cord around his neck, the feather tied tightly in a clasp at the end. He held it up; despite being a bit rumpled from Tommy holding it for so long, some golden highlights still gleamed in the red coloring as he turned it. The leather cord brushed agains the chain his compass hung on.

_After Phil finished painfully removing the stitches from Tommy’s wrecked back, Techno offered him a hand to help him stand. Tommy only offered one back, and his older brother looked curiously at his clenched fist._

_“Y’know, Tommy, keepin’ that feather in your hands just gonna make it fall apart. And I need both your hands to help you up without hurtin’ you.” The warrior paused, then asked, “Can I see it?”_

_Tommy hesitated, afraid to let the only piece of his wings he had left go. He looked up at Techno, whose mask was on once again, and remembered seeing the understanding in his red eyes. His fist shook as he put it in Techno’s outstretched palm. “I-I guess.”_

_His brother returned moments later with the feather on a leather necklace, safely secured at the end. “Now you can carry it ‘round without limiting yourself to one hand.” Tommy gave him a small smile as he put the cord around his neck. “And it wouldn’t help ya, Tommy, to only have one hand once we start sword fightin’.” That made Tommy smile in earnest, knowing he might fight again. “Thank you, Techno.”_

Ghostbur frowned. “Well, Phil said you shouldn’t be idle. It’s bad for the soul, he said. We could go outside maybe, for a walk in the snow? Or you could come to the basement and see Friend! Tommy, want to meet friend? You two haven’t met yet, since he’s been downstairs!”

Tommy’s fingers closed over the compass. It was warm. “Sure Wil, I’ll go see your Friend.”

Ghostbur did a delighted twirl, making himself go into his slightly corporeal state to guide Tommy down the ladder. “Oh, he’ll like you so much, I’m sure you’ll get along. He likes blue almost as much as you do, Tom!” The blond winced.

Just as they made it to the trapdoor next to the crates by the potion table, the door slammed open in a whirl of snow.

Tommy’s eyes flew to an out-of-breath Technoblade, who gasped, “Hide.”

* * *

_(Technoblade’s POV)_

Techno didn’t want to leave Tommy alone, but he _had_ to get out of the house.

He wanted to help his little brother as much as possible, of course, but sitting inside with the screaming voices in his head and the screaming silence that came from Tommy was unbearable. The voices demanded immediate action, revenge. Tommy’s silence made him want to scream at the world for making him suffer so much so young.

Tommy was almost ready physically to start re-learning how to fight without his wings, without having to defend them, without their weight altering the gravity of his movement. But he was not mentally there, yet. Mid-conversation, his sullen eyes would turn unfocused, and his words would fade out. And he apologized _way_ too much, nothing like the old Tommy who would rather die than apologize. And when Techno had to gently correct him or tell him to do something, he’d shrink in on himself, like he expected to be hit.

And despite the weeks Tommy had been here, Techno felt like he was doing nothing to make his brother better. He felt powerless, useless.

“Am I bein’ useless, Chat?” he asked aloud into the snow as he made his way home, lumber strapped to his back. “Am I just makin’ him sadder?”

_TECHNOHELP_

_Techno helps Tommy  
E_

_TECHNO USEFUL_

_TECHNOSAVE_

_Healinginnit_

_TECHNOSUPPORT_

He laughed humorlessly, spotting his house amid the light snowfall. “Thanks, guys.” Chat really liked Tommy. Helping him made them happy. “It’s funny, me callin’ Tommy Theseus all those months ago,” his voice was dry. “Maybe I shoulda called him Icarus.” The voices paused at that. Techno pushed the thought away, because after Icarus’ wax-and-feather wings melted away, he hit the ocean and died. 

“Maybe Ghostbur got him to do some of those exercises while we were out. I wanna see if we can get him outside soon, it’s not good for him to be cooped up in the house for so long.” He started up the stairs of his porch, and something in his head flickered. He turned and spotted a figure just leaving the tree line a few hundred yards away. He blinked, and the voices exploded.

_DRE_

_KILL HIM_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_GREEN BITCH_

_REVENGE_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_BUTCHER HIM_

_MAKE HIM PAY_

_HIDEINNIT NOW_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_TECHNOSAVE TOMMY_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_DREAM_

Panic and anger and rage and hate. Techno turned and dove in the door, dropping the lumber into a heap. Tommy and Ghostbur were staring at him, wide-eyed, about to descend the trapdoor.

Techno choked out, “Hide.” He pointed to a crate next to the brewing stands. “Tommy, in there, now.” Tommy scrambled over, wincing as he had to bend over and stretch his back. Techno threw open the lid and guided him in. Tommy looked terrified, and as Techno took his arm to help him over the edge of the box, he felt his pulse racing in his wrist. “Tommy, do not make a _single sound_. Do not come out until I say so”

If it was possible to look more afraid, Tommy was. Techno stared into his petrified eyes. “I will protect you. I will not let him get you.” He poured an invisibility potion over his brother’s head, and closed the box. “Ghostbur, get Philza and wake him up now. Then turn invisible like you ghosts do and hide. If Dream finds you, _Tommy is not here_ , understand?”

The phantom nodded, the cheerful disposition dropped into one of calm. As naïve as he usually was, at least Ghostbur could comprehend when a situation was life-or-death.

The warrior threw his pack onto a hook as a bleary-eyed Philza came down the ladder. Techno wasn't letting that bastard hurt anyone in his family ever again.

…

When the knock on the door came a minute later, Techno stood up from his chair across from Philza. His winged friend looked up from the book he was reading by the fire, fingers tightly cleched around the binding, and gave a small nod.

Technoblade walked over and grabbed the handle. The door swung open. A masked figure stood there, draped in netherite armor and a cloak sprinkled with white snowflakes. The voices roared. Techno smiled.

“Hello, Dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, at last, I am finished. If you see typos... uhh... no you didn't <3
> 
> This took a hot while. Ranboo is very hard to write, but I had fun trying to work out how his thoughts would flow; I wanted it to be more matter of fact and less contemplative since he has memory problems. Maybe we’ll see more of his POV in the future, idk! Also, I LOVE WRITING TECHNO’s VOICES!!
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think worked/didn’t work, and feel free to leave feedback on the rest of the chapter! It helps me improve. 
> 
> Also hi Kermit from the curseworm discord hehe thanks for reading my fic :D
> 
> EDIT: So it's the night before the 20th, ~the big day~ if yk yk. I imagine everyone else is as stressed out as I am with the lore overload, so the next chapter will probably be coming out this Friday. Sorry it's a longer wait than usual, but when the canon lore calls, we answer. I've got many fun things already written, chap is about 1/2 way done. It's a long one. Anyway go to sleep heathens o7


	8. Stumbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor appears at Techno's doorstep. In a country built upon a crater far away, a funeral takes place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOO LOOK AT ME PUBLISHING A DAY EARLIER THAN I PROMISED OOO
> 
> YOOO GUYS THE DISC FINALE STREAM WAS SO GOOD OMG  
> IM ACTUALLY IN SHOCK IT WAS SO AMAZING DEAR LORD
> 
> Over 1,000 Kudos. Wow. You guys are the best.
> 
> And yes, I AM a (wellkindofbecausewhathedidtoTechnowasfuckedup) Tommy apologist. And a Tubbo apologist. They deserve a happy ending. Dream apologists be GONE because Dream has no redeeming qualities here. 
> 
> Since last chapter sucked and I wasn’t happy with it I spent extra time on making this one much better. Buckle up. Lots of heartbreak. I’ve got a triple whammy of pain speeding ur way folks :)
> 
> Anyway,
> 
> ~PLEASE~ leave a comment below on what you thought/feel/love/hate! It helps me so much :D <3
> 
> ANGST FOR THE ANGST GODS
> 
> TW: PANIC ATTACK AT THE VERY START (basically all of Tommy’s POV here), blood, descriptions of violence, discussion of implied suicide.

* * *

_(Tommy’s POV)_

As two gods stood face to face in the doorway, the boy in the box sunk his teeth into his fist to keep from crying out as his fragile wounds were shoved against the splinters of a crate. His back hurt. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but a dull rubbing against the coarse wood that sent his mind spiraling. The boy in the box wanted to fly away. He could not, for his wings were long gone. The mental repair that had barely begun crumbled to nothing at the sound of the voice behind the porcelain smile. As the speaking of the newcomer in the doorway began, so did the memories, rolling off his mind and soaking into his shoulders. Saturating them with the relentlessly vicious _swish_ and _hack_ of a punishing axe. He was there, _there,_ kneeling in the grass by the crater that used to be full of logs. The man cloaked in green was chopping at his wings again, but this time they wouldn’t fall off. The man was smiling, but he was no longer wearing the mask.

A swing. A slice. A splatter. The boy glanced down at his revolutionary coat. He didn’t remember donning it, wearing it since the days when he smiled big and looked at the world through eyes full of stars. Maybe it was to keep out the chill of betrayal on an obsidian wall. Had his uniform always been this red?

The voices outside the little crate were tense, full of roiling tension and unspoken threats. Panic choked him, or maybe it was the necklace. The boy grasped the leather cord with the piece of what he used to be clasped in the end. His knuckles brushed the cold metal of a compass pointing home. The box was small (a painful reminder he wouldn’t have fit in it if he had wings), and he imagined that his friend with the firework scars felt this way when he was trapped in a box on the podium at the festival. His back was roaring, his wings flaring but not because his feathers had disappeared as the man with the axe stripped them like bark and then they were gone but the man was still _cutting_ and _cutting_ and _cutting and cutting and cutting and it wouldn’t stop and the boy wanted to jump and fall and make it end make it stop-_

The boy squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t breathing. He was breathing too much. Each gasp was silent. Each gasp was like cannon fire, too loud, _He_ was going _to hear him_. His feathers were poking out of the lid. His feathers were covered in blood. He was dead. He was alive. He didn’t want to be either of those things. He wanted to be both.

He wanted to go home.

Finally, a shout broke the tense exchange of words outside the tiny hell the boy was sealed inside. Someone was screaming. No, that was his head. He opened his eyes again. Darkness. He felt in his body what his eyes could not grasp, which was that he was feeling the persisting echo of something that was already in the past. The man with the axe was not ripping his wings out again. But he was outside. A thud on the lid of the box shot trembles through his limbs, and the boy snapped out of it. As his ears and thoughts cleared, he thought maybe it was better to be trapped in his past misery than feel the terror of what was happening now.

Tommy bit his fist harder. He tasted the metal tang of blood. Hot tears slipped out.

* * *

_(Technoblade’s POV)_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_E_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_LAG_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_IS ANYONE ELSE LAGGING_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

The words danced in his ears, sent blood rushing to his head, made his hands twitch for the sword sheathed at his hip. They were constant, relentless. It wasn’t a whisper. It was a scream, a _command_. The voices, for once, all wanted the same thing. They wanted the exact same thing Technoblade did. It took every bit of his focus to pay attention to the masked man on his doorstep and not to run him through and smile _as his warm crimson blood soaked the floorboards and his body hit the floor with a thump and Techno could taste the revenge on his tongue—_

“Techno?”  
  


The warrior blinked. “Sorry, what?”

Dream cocked his head slightly. “I asked if I could come inside.”

The words had to be shoved out of his throat. He felt his lips drag up into a smile that must have looked as cold as it felt to him. “Sure.”

The speedrunner took a calculated step inside the cabin, pushing the door closed behind him. As it slammed, snow swirled up, then spiraled to the floor. All three of the men in the room watched the flakes as they fell. A beat passed.

Philza shifted, turning his body toward Dream. Techno didn’t miss the way his dark wings pulled closer to his body. His friend glanced at him, then cleared his throat. “So, Dream, what can we do for you?” His words were overbearingly neutral. Both of them wanted to kill their visitor right now, wanted to exact sweet revenge for the brother hiding in the box in the corner of the room.

Dream looked around the room, taking in the supply cabinets and chests, armchairs, table, _and hopefully not the hastily tucked away signs of a blonde sixteen-year-old._ “Well,” he started, the syllables long and drawn out. “It appears I have run into a bit of a problem. And I think you can help me.”

_WHY WOULD WE HELP HIM_

_KILL_

_GREEN BASTARD_

_END HIM_

_PLS HIDE TOMMY PLS_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

_TECHNOKILL_

_HOW DARE HE_

_DRE_

_CUT HIM OPEN_

_KILL_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

Techno casually scratched his head, digging his nails into his scalp in an effort to quiet the voices. Dream couldn’t find out Tommy was here. Tommy was in no shape, neither physically nor mentally, to run or fight. His eyes threatened to land on the box he’d stuffed his brother in. Instead of ripping Dream’s throat, he replied blandly, “what’s the problem?”

The masked visitor leaned against the wall by Phil, _right next to the crate_. Out of the corner of his eye, Techno saw Phil angle his body to further face Dream as he spoke. “Well, a certain exiled hothead of mine is missing.”

His knuckles white as they closed his book, Philza bit out, “Did you kill him?”

Dream held his hands up in mock-innocence. “What? No, geez, Phil. I’d never do that to the kid. I just don’t know where he is. He was there a little while ago, but I haven’t seen him since.”

Techno’s own inner thoughts roared louder than the voices. _BUT YOU’D TORTURE HIM AND RIP OUT HIS FUCKING WINGS?_ His heart pounded like the drums of war. Techno settled his sharpest gaze on him. “Why would Tommy run away, Dream? Based on what Phil heard you telling the people at L’Manberg, he’s loving all the time he’s spending with you, _Dream_ , his _new friend_.”

Dream’s posture shifted, his shoulders tense. “It’s Tommy, _Technoblade_ , he’s always been out of control. He causes trouble where he can. If he causes problems, that makes _him_ a problem, ” He seemed to reign himself in once more. “I’m just worried about him; he could be in danger. I came to see if either of you had heard or seen anything of him.”

“Worried,” repeated Phil, his eyes flickering. The winged man rose, taking a threatening step toward Dream. “I dunno, mate, good things never seem to happen to people you’re _worried_ about.”

“That’s not important. Things were going fine, everything was perfectly under control. He’s just being dramatic. Reckless.”

Techno adjusted his own mask, happy it only covered half of his face; the emotionless wall of white Dream’s words came out of was chilling. While Techno was legendary for his strength, his brutal victories, his bloodshed, at least he still could show people he was a _person_.

Techno spoke up, “Well, did you check L’Manberg? Wouldn’t he be hidin’ there if that’s where Tubbo is? Aren’t they like best friends?” The polite façade was going to crack if Dream didn’t get out of the house.

“I checked, not there. He didn’t even _miss_ home when he was in exile, let alone Tubbo, who was the one to throw him out. He couldn’t have gone far from Logsted, so I came to check here.”

Techno snorted, fingers digging into his arms. “When I went to visit him ages ago, he made it pretty clear he wanted me dead and never wanted to see me again. I doubt he’d come here.”

Dream just shrugged, the movement making the weapons sheathed on his back clack together. “Well, he had to run away somewhere.”

Phil’s wings flared. “If my _son_ ran away from you, maybe he had good reason to. I know I haven’t been around these parts long, but I know you aren’t the warm fuzzy fuckin’ type. Maybe he _was_ in danger, and it’s _your_ fault, you—”

“ _It’s not my fault!”_ Dream blared out, slamming a gloved fist on the crate. The sound reverberated in the air, dust glimmering in the sunlight that streamed inside.

Techno tried not to flinch. Tommy must be terrified.

_SCAREDINNIT_

_KILL DREAM_

_BLOOD_

_GET HIM, PHIL!_

_REVENGE_

_DESTROY THE WING CLIPPER_

_BLOOD_

“Shut up, Chat,” he murmured under his breath as Phil and Dream faced off. The tension in the room was one thread away from snapping. Techno let his hand slip to the hilt of his sword.

Phil pointed a finger at Dream’s covered face. His voice was bitter, full of thorns fiercer than any armor enchantment. “I don’t know where Tommy is, you sick bastard, but I want to know what the _fuck_ you’ve been doing to him. Tommy doesn’t _run_ from things. He finishes what he starts. I don’t like you calling my child a _problem_. Ever think that _you’re_ the problem? Why the hell do you need him under your control so badly, _Clay_?”

Dream was the first to snap. In a fluid, deadly quick motion, the axe strapped to his back on a belt was in his hand, and the voices exploded and he was swinging at Phil’s left wing and Phil was _too close_ to him and Techno was _too far away_ and the blade hissed through the air and what happened to Tommy was about to happen to Phil _no no no_ —

The axe stopped, the edge brushing the ebony feathers along joint of Phil’s wing. The room was silent. Philza was staring at the sight before him in horror, but he did not step back. The voices in Techno’s head were incoherent, speeding by and slamming into his consciousness like lightning.

_PHIL_

_NO_

_PHILZA NO OH GOD_

_NOT HIS WINGS_

_NOOOOOO_

_KILL DREAM_

_SAVE DADZA_

_NOT THE WINGS NOT AGAIN_

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

Dream was breathing heavily. “ _Tommy_ causes problems, Philza Minecraft. I stop them so that people like _you_ can live in _peace_."

He slowly lifted his head to look at Techno, axe still touching Phil’s feathers. "Peace, so I won't have to keep saving people. Remember how I saved you at your execution, Techno?” Techno winced, still poised to attack should his visitor make another move. “Remember how I saved your precious little horse, Carl? Remember how you _owe me a favor?_ A favor I could call in whenever I want, actually. I know you pay your debts, Techno, so I’d ask your _dear old dad_ here not to talk to me like I’m some psychotic monster.”

Dream took a step back, and the demons in the warrior’s head let out a collective sigh of relief. Sheathing his axe, Dream took a step towards the door. “I’m done playing the blame game. I don’t know where that brat is. If you see him, tell me. He’s exiled; he needs to _learn_ how to handle _punishment_.” The image of gore pouring out from behind that stupid, smiling mask was vivid in the Blood God’s mind.

With a flourish of his green cloak, the visitor made to leave the door. “Goodbye, Techno. Philza.” Before he could grab the handle, Techno was there, blocking him with a drawn sword. The enchantments in the hilt glowed, reflecting onto Techno’s face. His elegant pig mask cast a shadow over his exposed jaw, creating the illusion of long fangs. Techno thought he saw Dream shudder. The voices cheered.

In a low, dangerous voice, he murmured, “I know I owe you a favor, Dream. But don’t _ever_ come in _my house_ and threaten someone in _my family_ ever again.” The unspoken words fell in the shadows cast by weak sun climbing through windows:

_Or else._

Dream looked at Philza once more, then disappeared out the door, trekking through the snow to whatever lair he creeped about in his spare time. The voices had quieted, happy to let Techno deliver threats they knew he would make good on. Sure that the threat was disipated, Techno shared a long glance with Phil, whose hands were brushing the spot where Dream’s axe caressed his wings. Saw the anger, and the tiny blink of fear in his eyes, the minuscule understanding of the pain Tommy had gone through.

His father squared his shoulders and locked the door. As the figure slowly vanished from view, Techno realized Dream didn’t get it. When he said _his family_ , he didn’t just mean Phil. No one was touching the people he cared about again. His eyes turned to the sealed box, which had been mercifully silent the entire time.

He frowned, and crossed the room towards the crate. Tommy’s new silence was eternally concerning.

Techno unclasped the box, pulling back the lid. Phil bowed his head to look in.

The boy they found was one with haunted gray eyes, bleeding knuckles punctured with teeth marks, and a hand squeezing the cords of two necklaces of equal importance. The boy looked up, a shaky hand brushing back a lock of blond hair (which was getting a bit too long).

Technoblade felt his heart ache as Phil reached in gentle hands and helped Tommy up and guided him toward the cushioned chair by the fire. The once bright eyes fearfully scanned the room, the fear sputtering out to a numb nothingness while he sat. The hand clenched around the compass and feather tightened. Neither Techno nor Phil said anything.

The absence of copper wings answered their silence.

* * *

_(Dream’s POV)_

They knew.

Maybe not everything, maybe not about the wings, but they knew Dream had done something. He saw it in the way Techno’s lips had thinned into a line when he opened the door. Dream could practically _see_ the red eyes blazing beneath his adversary’s own mask.

Maybe they did know where Tommy was. All Dream had to do was find him and finish the job before they found out more.

He slipped off his mask while he watched a quiet funeral unfold in the heart of L’Manberg.

* * *

_(Tubbo’s POV)_

Tommy’s funeral was awful.

Beautiful, but awful.

Since final deaths never left a body behind, tradition was to bury an empty casket. Tommy’s casket was made of oak wood with a cobblestone brim etched around the sides. _(“It’s ugly,” complained Fundy yesterday afternoon, frowning at the coffin with distaste. Tubbo felt the tide of tears swim behind his eyes as he replied, “Tommy would have loved it.”)_ A L’Manberg flag was draped over it, the red in the flag drawn out by the red flowers Ranboo had brought. The feathers they’d collected from the… site were carefully tucked into the bouquets that would be buried in the grave.

The service was nice. People said nice words, speaking of all the stupid, crazy things Tommy did. Of how they’d give anything to be annoyed one more time by him, to see him waltzing down the Prime Path. They talked about all the good memories they had, of how genuine and true Tommy’s heart was, no matter the problems he caused. Ranboo talked about how even as Tommy was wasting away in exile, he still made Ranboo laugh, described how he stood up for Ranboo during the trial over George’s house. Someone said he was too young. Someone said he fought for what he believed in, no matter what. Someone said he was probably in the heavens above, inciting chaos among the angels and setting clouds on fire.

And it was awful, especially when it was Tubbo’s turn to speak, to close the ceremony. His fingers trembled, shaking the paper with the speech he’d written. It was impossible to read; apart from his dyslexia causing him trouble, smears already marred the ink from when he first wrote it.

Tubbo knew he was supposed to say he would be missed. That he was one of L’Manberg’s great founders. A war hero. That he was loud and obnoxious and wild and exciting and wonderful. That hopefully he found the happiness he needed in the afterlife.

But it wasn’t enough, because he was gone, and Tubbo hadn’t said goodbye.

His eyes were blurry when he glanced at the tearful, grim crowd. So many people had come to say goodbye, even those who barely knew Tommy. And Tubbo never even got to say that much. The people before him looked at him with sympathy and shared pain. But they didn’t know that _this was all his fault_.

His voice shook. As president, he had to give Tommy a hero’s send off.

“T-Tommy was…” he swallowed, the words already slipping away and his heart ripping through his ribs. “a true hero, and he was an even better f-friend.” Tubbo closed his eyes and saw blood and feathers splattered under a towering pillar in a rainy sky. “He w-was my best friend.”

The sobs came and did not stop. He tried to keep going, to give his Tommy the best departure he could, but the pain ripped fresh in his chest. Someone scrambled up to the podium and led him off, hands resting gently on his shoulders as they shook with the force of the tears. In his fist, he clutched a red bandana like a lifeline.  
  


He heard Quackity finish off the closing. It was a good speech. The burial followed, and Ranboo kept his arm around Tubbo’s shoulders the entire time as he watched the memory of his friend slip beneath the dirt. In his delirious mind, he thought, _how will Tommy fly if he’s stuck under the ground?_

The sky darkened and people went home. Tubbo stayed at the grave, his fancy suit wrinkled and dusty as he sat in the grass. His head stayed buried in his hands for minutes, hours, years. The metals pinned to his jacket clinked together sadly, the moon floating up high into a world that didn’t have a sun anymore. At some point, he was finally roused from his vigil by a careful but firm touch.

“Tubbo,” called Ranboo softly. He just shook his head in reply, his eyes staring listlessly at the tombstone. In the dark, he couldn’t even tell what they’d engraved on it. _They should have carved “murdered by his best friend who betrayed him_. _”_

“ _Tubbo_ ,” the half-enderman tried again, more urgently.

“What.” The word was cracked.

“It’s about Tommy.”

“Not now Ranboo, I—”

“Tubbo, would you please just look at me for a second?”

The brunette dragged his gaze up, and felt a sliver of surprise when he saw Sam standing off to the side, looking nervous, donned in full netherite. His eyebrows furrowed. “What is it?”

Ranboo’s eyes shone, the moon reflecting in his multicolored irises. “Come with me. You might want to hear what Sam has to say.”

The energy was sapped from each of his limbs. He didn’t want to leave Tommy alone in the dark, not again. “Why?”

A tiny, sad smile tugged at his friend’s mouth. “He knows some things that you’d be interested in.” He paused, hesitant, like he was scared Tubbo would shatter. “And… we don’t think Tommy is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked :D I worked hard on this one. Tubbo's bit was hard at the end because my mind is full of the sweet pain and catharsis from the stream yesterday and I didn't want to go overdrive on the sad. 
> 
> ANYWAY EVERYONE GO WATCH THE EVELYN EVELYN ANIMATIC BY SAD-IST IT’S SO GOOD OH MY GOD  
> >>>this animation is VERY close to how I imagined the final argument between Tommy and Tubbo, the argument that preceded the events of this fic. The emotion, the faces, the song choice, *chef’s kiss* 
> 
> ALSO ALSO HERE ON AO3 PLEASE GO READ DOLLHOUSE BY LACY_STAR IT’S LIKE THE BEST PANDORA PRISON DSMP ANGST FIC EVER GO DO IT NOW!!!
> 
> <3 More to come soon!
> 
> Please leave a comment on what you thought below :)


	9. Standstill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo finds out a piece of what happened. Sam continues to wade into dangerous waters with Dream. At Techno's house, Tommy snaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like, how was last chapter better than anything else I’ve written for this fic lmao  
> Like I went back and re-read it and I was like ‘DAMN this shit kinda slaps.’ Not sure how good this chapter will be in comparison bc some action and plot is moving forward and I’m better at writing pure angst but oh well. It’s not as good as the last one but I also worked hard on dis so ;)
> 
> The support I’ve received is truly wonderful. We’re over 13K hits and 1,300 kudos, somehow?!?! Thank you thank you thank you.
> 
> ALSO DID YALL SEE SAM’S FACE REVEAL HIS SMILE IS EVERYTHING TO ME;-; 
> 
> This chapter kinda picks right back up where we left off. Angry angst. GL folks. So now that the plot is split between cabin happenings and Tubbo/L’Manberg/prison happenings, there’s kinda some POVs that have to be filler between big events. 
> 
> PLEASE leave a comment below on what you think/love/hate/wonder/enjoy in the chapter. It helps me so much and makes me a better writer! <3 
> 
> ANGST FOR THE ANGST GODS
> 
> TW: Mentions of injury, panic attack, mentions of drug use (using ‘blue’ like a drug)

* * *

_(Tubbo’s POV)_

“And… we don’t think Tommy is dead.”

The world stopped. And it flared up—hope. He had to push it down, crush it under the heavy walls he kept around his heart, because Tommy was gone and he was afraid that they were going to tell him they were kidding and be cruel, because the world was nothing but cruel to kids like him. And they were going to put Tommy back into Tubbo’s future and rip him out all over again if he believed them, and he _wanted_ to believe them _so very badly_ but he also _didn’t_ because he knew he couldn’t survive this again. Tubbo blinked hard and shook his head slightly, opening his mouth to say all of this, but the only words that escaped him were:

“I—what?”

As Ranboo began to repeat himself, Sam stepped in, netherite armor glinting. “Okay, wait, wait, wait. _Ranboo_ is the one who thinks Tommy isn’t dead. I just saw something that might… help you figure out what happened. He could still very well be dead, but what _I_ know might help explain what _you_ saw in Logstedshire under the pillar. I really don’t know anything for sure. I just know something that might give you some closure.”

And that didn’t matter, because for the first time in _forever_ something akin to happiness sparkled in the young president’s chest. _He might be alive he might be alive he might be alive I might not have killed him I might get to hug him again and hear his laugh and—_

A touch to the shoulder stopped the thoughts from overwhelming him. Sam’s creeper-shaped helmet cast shadows over his eyes. “ _Tubbo._ I see you getting excited and I’m not trying to lead you on here. Like I said, I genuinely don’t know if he’s really alive or not. I don’t want to get your spirits up just to crush them. Even if he is alive…” His voice trailed off, something dark lingering in the air.

Adrenaline spiked through Tubbo, and he leapt up from the ground. “What did you find, Sam?”

The architect hesitated, looking away. “Well, I-I can’t tell you.” Tubbo’s brows furrowed. “Why not?” Ranboo also frowned at that. The half-enderman stepped over next to Tubbo to look at him. “Yeah, wait, actually why not?”

Sam’s fingers toyed with the hilt of his blade, and he sighed. “So, you all know I’ve been working on a big project for Dream,” the other two nodded. “Well, the thing I saw was inside that project, I’m technically under contract _not_ to say anything, so if I let anything slip… I’m a dead man walking. I can’t tell you.”

Tubbo and Ranboo both started arguing at that, but he held up a hand. “While I can’t _tell_ you what I saw, I can still _show_ you. If, oh, I don’t know, two people with invis potions snuck in behind me when I’m inside the project made their way in, and just, you know, _happened_ to see a few things, I don’t think there’s any consequences or clauses in my contract about that.” A nervous but conspiratorial grin flashed on his face. 

Tubbo thought for a moment, then gradually returned the grin. The smile felt foreign as it stretched his face. He hadn’t smiled much recently. _Really, not at all._ But he didn’t care to delve into that, because Sam was taking the sun and dragging it back into the sky. Tubbo could practically see the vibrant hues coming up over the horizon like watercolors again.

His hands were shaking and he felt light headed. The ground swayed beneath him, and he had to grab Ranboo’s arm to steady himself. His whole body felt alive with possibility, alive for the first time since he’d sent his best friend away atop cold walls. Even if Tommy _was_ dead…well, at least he’d get something resembling closure, maybe find out _why_ he died the way he did.

Tubbo let out a calming breath. “Well, Sam, when would be a good time to _happen_ to follow you, perhaps conveniently just after we take a sip of invisibility pots?”

Sam pulled out his communicator. “I actually came over to Ranboo a minute ago because Dream just messaged me. He wants me to come meet him inside the project. He’s the only one who can grant me access to the thing you have to see, so you’ll have to trail in behind me and do the same to get out.”

Ranboo stood. “I’ll go fetch us some potions, then.” Before he could race off, the builder grabbed his arm. “Wait. Before we go in, you guys _need_ to be on guard and as careful as possible. If Dream catches you inside, or finds out I _let_ you sneak in, our bodies will be in the ground with the coffin you just buried. There’s a very high chance we won’t make it out. I’m only doing this because something bad happened and you’re my friends; we need to find out the truth.”

Tubbo swallowed, but his resolve did not falter. “I don’t care about the risks. I’m going in. If-if Tommy’s still out there…” he didn’t need to finish.

…

And so it was that the group of three found themselves outside a terrifying black building, the shadow creeping long off its domineering walls. Ranboo and Tubbo had slipped off their armor and anything else that could create a sound. Before they left the tree line, Sam had instructed them to drink the potions. They had eight minutes before they’d have to drink another.

Wordlessly, Tubbo and Ranboo let Sam guide them through the complex nether portal entrance, into a dim hall of complex redstone contraptions, blackstone, and steel bars. Sam did not look back, did not give a single indication that anyone else was with them. The warped light came from a mixture of redstone lamps and lava behind glass. Empty cells were filled with the echo of Sam’s armored footsteps as they walked towards the center of the build.

_A prison_ , Tubbo thought with a shiver. A monstrosity meant to let somebody in just once and never let them out. His instincts told him to _panic_ , to _get out_ , because the last time he had been trapped _a firework was leveled as his face and he saw pain and beautiful, bright colors, and woke up to burn scars everywhere and Tommy’s tearful face—_

_No._ He had to do this. If there was a chance Tommy was alive, that he could see his friend again, he would relive the pain and fear a thousand times over. As they neared a heavy iron door with a small staircase leading above it, Tubbo wondered whether Tommy was trapped in the prison, whether Dream had _lied_ to him all along. Anger blended into his stark determination. If Dream had done something as horrible as putting his best friend in _prison_ , Tubbo would tear him _limb from limb, would rip that mask off and explode fireworks on his stupid face—_

His thoughts were interrupted again, by the _click_ of Sam stepping onto a pressure plate. Tubbo made sure he stuck close to his armored friend so that the redstone door wouldn’t trap him outside. He heard a shuffle of feet to his right—Ranboo doing the same. Sam took a deep breath as the door slid open.

Tubbo tailed Sam inside the grand room. _A throne room_. In comparison to the bright, open hall Eret had his throne in inside his castle, this was its version in hell. Lava chugged around them behind thick panes of glass, casting strange bursts of shadow and light on the walls. The deep, golden throne seemed to burn like an ember at the heart of it all, the lava in the floor seeming to flow towards it. The blackstone intertwined gave the impression of perpetual night. Tubbo was thankful the lighting was so irregular that his and Ranboo’s shadows couldn’t be seen.

He looked at Dream sitting upright in his great chair, the grinning mask bright in the glow of lava. The friendship and respect this man had been playing at with L’Manberg meant nothing here. The very existence of this building was like a threat. A single world flashed through his mind:

_Tyrant_.

  
He looked above the throne. Time stood still. Realization struck him like an arrow. Terrible recognition dawned in his mind. Horror sank into his bones. His heart plummeted as another word followed the first:

_Monster._

It took all of the invisible boy’s willpower not to scream as he beheld the laurel wreath composed of his best friend’s severed wings hanging above the head of a smiling dictator.

* * *

_(Dream’s POV)_

As the speedrunner watched Sam enter his chambers, a smirk etched across his face under white porcelain. He watched as the builder, despite his better judgement, looked up at the wings mounted over him and paled. Truly, it was the greatest feat Dream had ever performed, had ever gotten away with. The feeling of elation was the reason he loves—wait, no, _loved_ manhunts with George and Sapnap. The getaway, the greatest thrill of serotonin of adrenaline the world had to offer him.

Along with that feeling, however, came an irritating little worm of doubt. After mulling it over, he was sure that either A, Tommy was hiding with Technoblade and Techno had lied to his face about it (despite Techno being a terrible liar), or B, Tommy was curled up hiding and likely dying in the wild somewhere. He wasn’t in L’Manberg (Tubbo’s grief had been too real when Dream watched the funeral, hidden from the tearful eyes below), and he certainly wasn’t dead, based on the lack of items and the broken blades of grass where Dream had left him. Plus, he wasn’t sure if the wings would disappear or not if Tommy lost his final life. _I hope not_ , he grimaced as Sam paused at the foot of the dais. _They look so nice with the décor of the room._

Ignoring Sam’s worried glances at the splayed feathers, Dream greeted him warmly. “Hello Sam,” his hands curled around the arms of his chair. “How was the funeral?” 

Sam froze; his whole body tensed up like a coiled wire. A second later, the hesitation was gone, but Dream had seen it nonetheless. “It, uh, was fine. Beautiful ceremony. People brought a bunch of Tommy’s favorite items and put them in the coffin. Someone even brought a Cat disc,” Sam swallowed, his eyes scanning Dream’s mask. He cleared his throat. “Obviously not, you know, _the_ disc, but it was still real nice.”

Dream couldn’t tell if he liked it. This feeling of power when someone was so clearly afraid of him. He liked the _respect_ …but fear like this brought that element of hesitancy. Of trying to say the ‘right’ thing to please him. Of lying to his face so that they didn’t incur his wrath. For a minute, the only sound in the room was the echo of magma whirling behind reinforced glass and obsidian. A stray feather fluttered down from the wings displayed above. It felt like everything in the room focused on that one feather, as it spun and shone gold in the murky light. When Dream plucked it from the air, it seemed as though the room itself sucked in a breath.

He stared at it. It was beautiful; and yes, his crime was vicious, but it was necessary. If he was going to put Tommy down and make him _stay_ there, he had to take preemptive action.

What was that saying the great warriors used to describe this kind of punishment—the kind that gave you just what you wanted to win but left what was necessary?

_Take the heart, leave the bones_.

He let the words hang in his mind for a few moments. Idly, he considered the fact that Technoblade would praise him for taking the advice of the old masters of war. When Dream rolled his shoulders and began talking again, fiddling with the red-gold feather, he could’ve sworn he saw the air around Sam flinch.

_As it should_ , called the power hungry part of him, the part that had pushed away his two best friends. _As it should_. As Dream began making suggestions to add to the prison, though, he felt like his words were just rolling out to a world that was scared of him. Like the dark, purple walls had glittering eyes that watched his every move with apprehension.

Like he was a god.

Like he was a devil.

Maybe it was the world he’d have to come to accept.

Maybe it was the world he’d been living in for a long time now.

* * *

_(Technoblade’s POV)_

Tommy was much easier to read when he still had wings.

The way he shifted them when he was talking or just sitting was always an easy way how to tell what he was feeling is his face or words didn’t give it away. They’d fluff up all wildly when he was irritated or fired up _(“You look like a fluff ball,” Techno would say when they were kids. Tommy would stick his tiny nose up in the air and shout “I do NOT!” while crossing his little arms.),_ or flare out a bit when he was scared or trying to _be_ scary _(Wilbur told Techno about the day Tommy challenged Dream to a duel during the war for L’Manberg’s independence. He said despite the enemies surrounding him in gear that was ten times better than his own, Tommy had spread out his wings like flames in the sunset, standing up to Dream and vowed to sacrifice himself for his country. He said despite all they’d lost, at that moment, Tommy had made them all feel hope.),_ or droop and fold in on his shoulders when he was sad _(in Pogtopia after Techno took Tubbo’s second life, he’d seen Tommy in their makeshift healing cave. It was a little before Tommy and Techno fought in the pit. Techno had peeked inside the room to find Tommy tightly clasping Tubbo’s hand, the brunette unconscious and covered in bandages. Tommy’s wings were curled like a blanket around his body as he stared helplessly at his friend. Tommy looked so small.),_ or they’d flutter when he was happy or a little nervous _(Before Techno had brought down L’Manberg after Schlatt’s death, he watched Tommy’s bright eyes follow his best friend, newly proclaimed president, as he climbed up onto the podium. When Tubbo started talking about the future and Techno had accepted his plan to bring the ordeal to an explosive end, Tommy’s happy little feathers fluttering had caught his eye. He’d stared at them until he heard TNT hissing under the ground, then moved forward with his plan)._

But now, looking at Tommy’s blank stare, the shadows under his eyes… Techno couldn’t read him. It felt like another part of Tommy had been taken from him, from all of them.

Tommy wasn’t talking much again. Techno began to keep his mask off around the house, only donning it when he left, because he could get Tommy to answer questions when Tommy could look into his _actual_ eyes, not the white mesh that shielded them in his graceful mask.

It made him uncomfortable, to let all of them, Tommy and Philza and Ghostbur, look at the scars around his forehead, his temples, his cheekbones, to let them be reminded of the torture he’d undergone when he was captured by piglins in the nether. At least Tommy didn’t react to them; he was too lost in his own head. But he saw the sadness trickle into Phil’s gaze, the way Ghostbur’s eyes wouldn’t meet his face as much.

But for Tommy, it was worth it. So he kept his mask off, got Tommy to eat, to wash himself, to drink water. He still couldn’t get him to go outside. Most of the time he just lay on the couch by the table Phil had healed his wounds on, sleeping, staring at nothing, or looking at his two necklaces. Apart from a dethatched apathy, the only other emotions he ever found on his brother’s face was bitter anger and frustration or apologetic fear.

The few times Tommy talked, it was never anything of substance. No requests, no laughter, nothing. Whatever force had urged Tommy to talk to Techno the night Techno first took off his mask for his brother was gone. When he got frustrated with not being able to lift his arms above his head (it hurt his back too much to stretch that way) or with himself for not being able to go outside, he’d deflate, take some blue, and say nothing for hours.

Phil said he needed time.

Techno thought that if they gave him any more _time_ , he’d disappear.

Two days after Dream’s surprise visit, however, something changed.

Tommy lashed out.

They were making dinner. Ghostbur was humming quietly to himself as he chopped carrots, and Phil was cooking beef. Technoblade had just come inside from repairing a broken fence in Carl’s pen, and he was surprised to see Tommy lending a hand to Phil.

  
As he dumped his tools onto the rack, Tommy violently flinched at the sound and whirled to see where it came from. His eyes were panicked, and Techno raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Just me,” he said, lifting his cloak off and hanging it on a hook. The teen just nodded, looking shaken as he helped prepare the dishes. As Phil turned to adjust the fire, his eyes met Techno’s. Techno cocked his head to the side and nodded in Tommy’s direction. _He’s helping?_ Phil just shrugged, his hand gesturing at Tommy. _He wanted to._

Techno took this as a good sign. The quiet noises of the family swirled in the kitchen: the crackle of fire and Ghostbur’s gentle hum and the quiet clinking of dishes sent Techno back years and years ago, before the family had fallen apart.

For a moment, when he closed his eyes, it felt the same. But then he opened them and remembered Wilbur was dead and Tommy’s wings had been ripped from his back and he and Phil had fought in countless wars. Despite this understanding, the spell of calm remained unbroken.

While he pulled the tablecloth and chairs around the wooden table, the warrior called out, “Hey, Tommy, would you mind grabbing the silverware from the drawer?” Tommy glanced at him, surprised Techno wanted to him to be involved, and nodded. His dull eyes brightened a little at the request, and Techno felt a pang in his chest when he could practically see the way Tommy’s wings would have shifted in newfound importance.

But it was the wrong task to give him. Techno should have considered it first, and Phil was focused on the fire and Ghostbur in his own world so no one thought to halt Tommy from opening on the drawer that stuck a little so he had to pull hard to get it out. He tugged on it too hard and the silverware slammed against the side of the drawer and a few forks went clattering out. The ring of metal shattered the relaxed air, bringing the gentle flow in the room to a halt.

Tommy scrambled backward, almost tripping on his own feet. Techno swiftly stepped forward, placing gentle hands on Tommy’s lower back to stop his fall.

Another wrong move.

His touch made Tommy aggressively flinch forward, and he barely caught himself on the side of the table. Techno winced, holding out a hand. “Tommy, I—”

“Get _away_ from me!” The voice sounded afraid as is cracked. Everyone else in the room took a step backward. Tommy’s breaths were coming out rapidly, his chest heaving. His legs were trembling as he retreated, and his hands curled into fists as spasms shook his fingers. 

“Tommy, it was an accident, let’s calm down, mate,” tried Phil. Tommy’s eyes instantly narrowed and he pointed an accusatory finger at his father. “How can you just _say_ that like it’s _easy?_ How _dare_ you fuckin’ to tell me to calm down! How can I calm down when I can’t even do one _simple fucking thing_ without _freaking out_?!” Tears bloomed and ran down his pale cheeks.

  
This was the most he’d spoken in weeks.

Phil hesitated, his face darkening. This was uncharted territory—he’d never reacted like this before. Never reacted so dramatically to a trigger. The room quieted, and the sounds of Tommy’s heavy breathing and the fire filled the house. Ghostbur came over, looking nervous, with his arms full of blue. “Here, Tommy, take some blue. It will help, it always helps me feel better when I’m upset…”

Still huffing with frustration, Tommy stretched out a hand for some of the crystals. Ghostbur made to hand him one, but Techno had swiftly stepped between them.

  
“What the fuck? Move over, dickhead!” Tommy fumed, trying to sidestep around him.

Technoblade crossed his arms. “No.” Tommy tried to shove him over, but Techno remained unmoving, staring down at him. Tommy glared up at him with those empty eyes, now glimmering with increasing spite. “Why the hell not?”  


“Because the past few weeks we’ve seen you go through _way_ too much of that stuff, and I don’t think that’s good for you. Ghostbur, don’t give him any more of that.”

“Fuck you, Technoblade, you don’t know that it’s bad for me. Back in my exile, _Dream_ let me have as much blue as I wanted! It was the _one_ fucking thing I was allowed to keep when he came to blow my shit up every day. At least when I use it I don’t have to feel anything at all and can stop acting like I’m not falling apart. At least Dream was my friend who knew I was falling apart even before…” a grieving pause split his sentence. “…even before I lost my wings, and he didn’t give me the looks you all give me or act like I can’t do anything because we all _know I can’t—_ ” He was hyperventilating now. 

Before he or Phil could process what Tommy was talking about, he plowed on. Tears streamed out and dribbled down his chin.

“I can’t even _fly_ anymore to get rid of my feelings, and blue actually helps with that. In fact, it makes me feel _better_! Don’t you want me to get better? _I_ sure as hell don’t want to, but you and Phil seem pretty hell-bent on keeping me around here, so the least you can do is not let me feel like complete and utter _shit_ every _fucking second I have to be awake!_ ”

The voices didn’t like what Tommy was saying; they _really_ didn’t like it. They weren’t even mad; this was something unusual. They were worried… they were _scared_.

Ghostbur’s form flickered, a distraught expression on his face as he clutched the blue in his hands and swayed backward. The color was staining his yellow sweater a deep shade of azure. The ghost started whimpering, and Phil made to lead him out of the room, casting a worried glance at Techno as he gently urged Ghostbur up the ladder. Philza’s wings were flaring up, the black feathers slowly rising in panic. Neither of them knew what to say.

  
The boy’s eyes followed the movement of his father’s wings. The emotions could have been written in ink across his brow:

_Envy. Sadness. Grief. Loss. Pain. Anguish._

Phil remained frozen as he murmured in a gentle voice, “Tommy, how about we sit down. Take deep breaths. I know—”

“ _No!_ You _don’t know_ , Dad!” Techno and Philza flinched at that. None of the boys had called their father that for years.

“You don’t _know_ what it’s like to be grounded! You don’t know what it’s like to stare at the sky through a window and feel trapped. Even when your wings got burned in Wilbur’s explosion, at least you could let them heal—I don’t even have anything left! I-I have nothing! I _am nothing and I have no one!_ ”

The voices were really upset, for once just as powerless to move Techno to do anything as Techno was to help his brother.

_COMFORT_

_COMFORT SADINNIT_

_TECHNOHELP_

_HUG SADINNIT_

_SAVE HIM_

_COMFORT_

The warrior cleared his throat. He moved forward, slowly, the way he’d approach an injured animal. “You aren’t nothing, Tommy. And you have me and Phil now.”

Tommy was quivering, his arms moving as he spoke in a way that must have hurt, but he was relentless. “Where the fuck was Phil when I got _exiled_? When I lost two of my lives in wars Will dragged me into?” His blurry eyes gleamed with hurt. "And _you,_ Techno, why the hell am I even here? I’m surprised you actually took me back with you, instead of just leaving me in the dirt and saying _Oh, I told you so, Theseus! Oh, HMM, guess I should’ve called you Icarus! Oh Tommy, fucked up again! Oh Tommy, I warned you that you’d be exiled!_ ”

Techno, who was standing a careful distance away, blinked in surprise. He didn’t know Tommy had ever listened to the mythology stories he’d read to him when they were little.

Tommy was rambling, his words panicked. He’s always had an issue like that. He was never able to stop talking and interrupting himself and spewing words out even when what he said might hurt him. Techno supposed that speaking like that was the product of having your ears filled by explosions and having to shout over cannon fire constantly. Even when the room was silent, Tommy seemed only further encouraged to speak louder and louder.

Eventually, he burned himself out, mostly because his voice died out and he was frustrated Techno and Phil just sat there patiently, not moving a muscle and letting him flush out all of his pent up feelings. When he was finished, curled in on himself in one of the plush armchairs, the dinner was cold. That was the first thing he noticed, and he tentatively looked back to his family.

In his quiet, worn voice, he stuttered, “I-I’m so sorry, I know I’m not supposed to raise my voice and oh _god_ I’m so sorry I let dinner get c-cold I d-didn’t mean to, I can m-make us new food and I—”

“Hey,” said Techno, gently taking Tommy’s hand in his own. It hurt, hearing those broken pleas. The old Tommy never begged for forgiveness, never apologized. As their eyes met, Tommy winced, looking like he expected to be hit. The voices cried for Dream’s blood at that, thoughts of fury and hate and death and revenge and killing hitting his stream of consciousness like bullets. It took Techno a moment to realize that just like he was having a hard time reading Tommy without wings, Tommy was having a hard time reading him without his boar mask. He couldn’t tell if Techno was angry at him; he _believed_ Techno was angry at him…

Because Dream must have _punished_ Tommy when he rose his voice or didn’t obey. The anger must have lit up Techno’s face, because Tommy curled in on himself more. “I… Tommy, it’s okay. We’re not mad. We’re sorry we upset you and I wish I could do something to take away your pain.”

Scared grayish irises met Techno’s. “I know you are hurting. I know you are not okay. But I don’t want to lose you, Toms, to watch you slip away and act all numb the way you do when you use Ghostbur’s blue. I think Phil and I would _rather_ you lash out at us than just… disappear. You’re right; we _do_ want you to get better. But drugging yourself into oblivion isn’t the way to go.” Phil nodded, and came over, gently wrapping Tommy into a delicate hug.

Outside, quiet birds fluttered into the rafters as the moon sparkled into the sky. A clear dusk. The snow sparkled under the breathless night. Tommy had opened up a little again and glanced out the window over Phil’s winged shoulder. The arctic air was cold and endless, the stars were woven like thread through the dark canvas of the sky.

Technoblade took a steadying breath. If Tommy needed a small push, if he wanted to stop being babied, he’d give him that. Techno offered a hand glittering with golden rings to his brother.

“Tommy, let’s go outside.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a calc test tomorrow and a huge presentation, but here I am writing fanfic for blockmen. If you see typos… uhh… no you didn’t. <3 
> 
> Yooo that nuke stream was stressful as HELL  
> Glad that’s over oml 
> 
> Yeah so next chapter’s gonna be FUN >:)
> 
> There’s a LOT of you reading this fic holy cow…………
> 
> ALSO I think I have a post-exile probably post-end of disc war one shot coming out maybe soon maybe about Tommy learning to be happy and himself again and get past his many ~traumas~ :)))
> 
> Anyway, PLEASE leave a comment below! Give me any thoughts/predictions/criticisms/ideas or tell me about what you loved/hated/wondered as you read! They help me improve sm. Thanks for reading!


	10. Looking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy goes outside for the first time in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this one took forever to get out. I got caught up writing a one-shot and kinda neglected this one! Then school caught up to me and I fell into a depressive episode :( But here’s a new chapter, and WOAH we hit the double chapter digits :O 
> 
> I’m not too sure how I feel about this chapter. I put a lot of thought into the ~writing~ more so than the ~plot,~ but I still hope you enjoy!!! It's so much shorter than usual and I'm sorry but I just couldn't bring myself to write more but I didn't want anyone to think I was ditching this fic. 
> 
> Go read my one shot! It’s called Kind Hands and it’s about Tommy’s recovery (unrelated to this fic completely) after the war. 
> 
> Let’s dive in.
> 
> ANGST FOR THE ANGST GODS >:D 
> 
> For once... I don't think there's anything to put in a TW except implications of suicidal thoughts... 
> 
> TW: Suicidal thoughts/implications

* * *

_(Tommy’s POV)_

Tommy had never minded the cold.

Growing up in a snow biome as a kid had been harsh. The summers were short and brisk, and the winters were devastating. It was never a huge problem, though. Tommy had enough fire and energy to keep himself motivated and moving so the chill never had a chance to seep into his bones the way it seemed to do to everyone else. There were countless times when Tommy was little when he would just storm outside, right into the unforgiving tundra, wearing just a t-shirt and pants. Of course, he would be quickly followed by Phil or Techno or Wilbur with a coat and a few choice words for being so reckless.

Phil would tug Tommy back inside, bundling his small form up with cloaks and gloves and even little furred lace to put around his wings. “Toms, I know it looks fluffy, but you know the snow isn’t warm.” Tommy would roll his eyes, sticking a tiny, red nose up into the air, and huff, “I know! I don’t care--I'm a big man!” And tuck his wings around him like a giant blanket. Phil would just smile at that and make him sit by the fireplace.

Because as long as that flame was there, simmering in his mind or his heart, it didn’t matter. Maybe it was his ‘fatal flaw,’ or whatever Techno was always mumbling about Greek heroes. When he put his mind to something, nothing else was important until he got what he wanted. Maybe that’s where all the trouble started with the discs.

But that fire had been snuffed out by the barbed fingers of a masked god and betrayal and bloodshed. Tommy thinks that it had sputtered out long before he lost his wings. At least when he was still in exile he could try and convince himself he still had the fight left in him, that there was still a spark.

He knew it had gone out when Techno opened the door to a frostbitten sky and the cold soaked him through. He was wearing a heavy furred cloak and still inside, but he was already freezing.

He didn’t even have his ruddy feathers to curl around himself anymore.

And it’s funny, because when Tommy was worried about going outside again, he hadn’t even been dreading the cold, just the too-big sky that would swallow him whole. It’s so funny that it’s actually not because he was so terrified of seeing the sky so close that he hadn’t even considered the other broken pieces, the shattered fragments he hadn’t noticed because the glass that was Tommy had already been smashed on the floor and ruined by a bloody axe.

It’s fucking _hilarious_ that this is the thing that starts to break him again. It’s not even what both he and probably Dream expected would make him fall apart; it’s not the gaping emptiness behind his shoulders that barricades him away from the outdoors. It’s the weeks of losing himself on the inside, of letting his spirit be ripped to shreds. The reason he can’t go outside isn’t because his body won’t let him; it’s because his _mind_ won’t.

The door hangs open, letting frigid air fill the entryway. Tommy stares at his hands, the nails bitten down to stubs. He doesn’t even remember biting them.

He’s literally on a threshold between moving on and holding back, and now he’s freezing for the first time and it’s _horrible_. He thinks about all those times when he woke up in the ocean, drowning. That felt something like this. At least he was numb, then.

But he can’t back out, not now. Techno steps in his line of sight, careful not to touch him again, but still gives him a small, encouraging nod. The warrior’s pink braid stirs slightly in some invisible wind, and his jaw is set. He’s determined to get Tommy out of the house. Tommy still doesn’t want to go outside, but then the flashing panic sets in from what has happened when he disobeys. And the funniest thing about all of this is that the very same thing that was keeping him out sends him forward; the unnatural reflex to obey orders that _Dream_ beat into him spikes up, even though Techno’s hardly even ordering him outside. Tommy drops his head, inclining it to Techno slightly ( _he hates that the does that)_ and braces himself. He steps outside.

It’s like sinking and floating at the same time, being out in the open again.

Everything is too big. He looks down.

* * *

_(Philza’s POV)_

Tommy keeps his gaze glued to the stairs below his feet, each step a shaky, unsure thing. The world holds its breath as Tommy steps off the front steps and onto the icy lawn. The snow beneath his boots crunches. A beat passes. Phil didn’t realize he was holding his breath, too, until he feels his lungs ache. Tommy stands silhouetted against the stark white, trembling. He looks so small.

Ghostbur hovers in the doorway, Techno just behind him. No one says anything. No one touches Tommy. Far in the distance, Strays walk along the snowy hills and tree line with their gray bones glistening. Tommy stays rooted in place, face turned away from the open heavens. No one knows what is going to happen, and it’s terrifying. He’s just looking down with those too-tense and too-fragile shoulders curled inward. The only disturbance is the fog of his breath, puffing up like little ghosts.

Phil places a hand on his shoulder, gently. The blonde stiffens even more. “You know mate, there’s only one way left to go when you’ve hit the bottom.” Tommy sniffles, just staring at him. Phil gestures skyward. “Up.”

Tommy’s lip trembles as he replies in a broken voice, “But I can’t even fly anymore.”

From behind him, Techno grunts quietly. “Ya don’t have to have wings to fly, Toms.” Ghostbur nods encouragingly, mercifully keeping his mouth shut. Tommy takes a shuddering breath.

It’s still too quiet. Phil feels like all the boys are kids again and its one of those late nights where he brings them outside to show them the stars and tell the stories of constellations (Techno loved those) and his crazy adventures (Tommy thought they were ridiculous). But this isn’t like those moments, because Tommy’s so silent. He misses hearing Tommy laugh. The lanterns in the house spill out yellow onto the snow. Phil thinks they’ve pushed him too far; Tommy wasn’t ready for this. This was a bad idea.

But then Tommy's eyes slowly slide up from the ground to the canvas of the sky.

And suddenly—there it is. A damp gleam of hope.

Phil is standing next to him and looking at him when that terror turns into something else, when he sees _it_ : the way Tommy’s fear slowly melts and his lips part, the way his eyes flicker like broken lightbulbs and sparkle with the reflection of the luminous tapestry above.

And he can see why Techno knew tonight would be a good night for Tommy to go out, because green and purple and blue lights are dancing between the stars, performing a show only meant for the whispering land of the north. Tonight is one of those rare moments when the world drops them into a fleeting, twilight universe; it’s an escape. Tommy lets out a shuddering gasp. The tension melts away. The world falls in.

And the glow of the sky that mirrors in his dull irises fills them with color, and tears are glinting in the starlight as they fall down his rosy cheeks. His hair looks white. Phil feels hope of his own stir in his chest. He smiles.

* * *

_(Tommy’s POV)_

His tears are warm. The silence is deafening, and everything is so much louder in it. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, in that dark sacred night. He doesn’t know if the others are outside still with him. Maybe they are, but he’s the only one inside this moment.

As time glides on insensibly, he begins to let go of something. Lights twinkle millions of miles above. _It will take a long while. It will not be easy. You can never be who you were again. Though you have suffered, life will not be kind to you,_ the stars say to him. _Both a truth and a warning: This is but a stained glass variation of the world you will face tomorrow._ He feels the remnant of a signature grin gently tug at his lips. _I know_ , he tells them. _I know._ The diamond-dusted darkness holds him and gives him back the only thing it can. It cannot bear to watch him break his own heart again, so the lights in the sky dance and dance for him and try to reignite a low flame in his heart again.

He has to come inside soon after, because the world is too big and it’s all too much and he still feels too small. He just turns, eyes brimming with more unspilled tears, and nods at his family. He goes back in the cabin crawls back onto the big couch he’d been using as a bed. Things aren’t better—not by a long shot. But as he hides from the world beneath the blanket, as the others come back inside and the door shuts with a quiet _click_ , he feels like things are turning around.

…

Oceans away, a prison goes under lockdown as its ruler realizes something must have slipped in with his warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY IT'S SO SHORT
> 
> I BARELY PROOF READ IT SO IF YOU SEE TYPOS OR WHATEVER IM SORRY
> 
> IF YOU CANT TELL I WAS LIKE "ah, yes, time for a pretty writing dump of night sky pretty"
> 
> Also at the start Tommy sounds like Elsa from Frozen and I- ; - ; oops
> 
> I WANTED TO GET A CHAPTER OUT FOR YOU ALL SO YOU DIDN'T THINK I WASN'T CONTINUING THIS FIC I AM I SWEAR D:
> 
> Also in the works of writing the origin story of the Techno from this fic! It's been vaguely mentioned in this story (experimentation, his time in the nether, etc.) but I hope it's something y'all might be interested in reading! <3
> 
> BUT OH, WHAT's THIS? IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN, I POSTED A ONE SHOT!
> 
> Go read it!!! It’s called Kind Hands and it’s about Tommy’s recovery (unrelated to this fic completely) after the war! <3 I'd mean a ton to me if you read it.
> 
> Comment what you thought below!


	11. Taking a Step Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prison turns into a nightmare. Tommy moves forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO IM SORRY I'VE BEEN SO BAD AT POSTING!!! 
> 
> As, uh, you all may have noticed, I've been very engrossed with writing my new fic! It's about the origin of the Techno in this story. In a couple chapters, I referenced 'experiments' and other stuff he'd undergone to become the way he is now. I was originally going to write just a single chapter in here on it, but then my brain went HAYWIRE on the idea and came up with this long, drawn out plot and character arc, so... yeah. 
> 
> It's called memento mori! GO CHECK IT OUT!
> 
> You may have also noticed that this fic is now in a series! The Techno story I'm writing is a prequel to this one, making this one part two. I'll be writing both of them as we move forward, don't worry! I'm not stopping this one at all :D 
> 
> IN THE ORIGIN SMP STREAM TOMMY PICKED AVIAN AND MADE MY FIC AND MY FIC DREAMS ~~CANNON~~ :D :D :D
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you all like today's chapter. I worked hard on it and worked hard not to keep writing the Techno fic so that I could give you all content. Enjoy.
> 
> ANGST FOR THE ANGST GODS
> 
> TW: Descriptions of injury, PTSD/Panic attack, weapons

* * *

_(Ranboo’s POV)_

Surprisingly, it was _not_ Tubbo that broke the guise.

As they entered the terrifying prison, Ranboo was fraught with nervousness, between the fact that he didn’t have any items on him and therefore no memory book (Sam insisted), and the fact that Tubbo was a complete and utter mess and he was scared that whatever they found would make him worse.

Then they entered the spooky, dark throne room. And Dream lounged on the throne like some heathen god of the past, his masked face angled towards them as they entered. Every step inside, Ranboo had to keep glancing down at himself to make sure he was still invisible. Next to him, Sam was a wall of ice, his face completely neutral, completely cold. The only falter in his façade was his single nervous glance above Dream. Ranboo kept his eyes trained to the floor, determined not to do something stupid like trip.

Finally, Sam stopped a healthy distance away from the dais, his netherite boots clinking against the stone. Ranboo was so focused on not breathing too loud and making sure he wasn’t standing too close to Sam that he almost missed them as the two visible people in the room shared niceties. He almost missed the way the lava highlighted the gold accents in the feathers. But he didn’t miss them.

_Dear god._

Because above the owner of the server was the most terrifying sight Ranboo had ever seen. A pair of beautiful, russet wings expanded as if in flight hung above the throne like a hunting trophy. A pair of wings Ranboo had last seen on a certain exiled blonde friend.

Ranboo was going to be sick. The image was burning so hot in his mind he was almost certain he wouldn’t need to write this in his memory book. Horror churned through his gut, and panic was hot on its tail. _He took Tommy’s WINGS?! HE HUNG HIS WINGS UP FOR DECORATION? Is Tommy even_ alive? _Can someone with wings survive that? What else has Dream done?_ His blood went cold. _What’s Dream going to do if he finds us?_

Something in his mind flickered, like an old memory was trying to resurface. Like he knew something important. As Dream went on asking Sam strange questions, he seemed more and more terrifying. All of the lava under the glass panels in the floor flowed toward him, veins of the glowing liquid connecting with him at the center of the web, making him look like… like….

The world tilted through Ranboo’s eyes.

_Like a heart._

And that one _freaking_ memory barely scraped the surface only to be drowned again by static, like Ranboo had made some revelation that the world didn’t let him know. Like he’d skipped a chapter and was being forced to go back. Suddenly, he felt a painful shortness of breath. The shadows in the room were filled with demons that haunted dreams and ripped out wings.

The thing about enderman hybrids, especially those who have a significant part of their abilities like Ranboo, is that when they feel really strong flight-or-fight instincts, their powers kick in. As Ranboo glanced down, he saw tiny purple particles fluttering in the air around him. His heart raced, and he couldn’t calm down. Sam had his eyes fixed on Dream as he pointed at the left wall of the room. Ranboo couldn’t register what was they were saying because he was freaking out too much. He had to get out of here before he teleported and the warp sound echoed throughout the dim chamber.

As quietly as he could, Ranboo crept backwards and towards the door, where there was more shadows and light coming off the lava fixtures. If he warped a little by the door, it was less likely Dream would hear or see it. After what felt like a million years, adrenaline blazing through his veins, he finally reached the end of the room and the door. The particles were increasing, and Ranboo released a breath.

He couldn’t teleport far anyway, and luckily the sound of him moving through space was relatively quiet. He opened his eyes to see the outside of the throne room. Relief cascaded through him, and Ranboo collapsed onto the floor, relishing the stable feeling of the cold stone beneath his fingertips. _Holy crap_ , Dream was a _monster._ They had to get out of the prison and they _really_ had to go find Tommy.

As Ranboo drew a hand up to run through his hair, something hard smacked into his head. Clutched in his invisible hand, appearing to be floating in mid-air, was a blackstone brick from the floor. With his powers going haywire with his panic, he must have accidentally used his silk-touch hands.

He glanced down. In the hole where the brick used to be, an observer peeked out, and the sound of redstone wiring echoed up. Ranboo blanched, scrambling to replace the block, but by the time he slotted it back in it was too late. Harsh alarms blared out from every wall and every corner, and the light spewing from the redstone lamps above suddenly turned red.

Dream stormed out of the door, axe in hand. He whirled on Sam, who was trailing just behind him, holding a sword nervously and looking panicked. The speedrunner’s mask glinted. “Sam,” he said in a slow, deadly murmur. “Did you let someone come into my prison?” The warden threw his hands up, shaking his head. “No, _no_ , Dream, I swear, I saw no one else come in with me. I haven’t seen anyone since the funeral.” Not a lie, since the two boys had both been invisible when they entered the obsidian building. “I wouldn’t _ever_ let anyone inside on purpose; I care about this project too much to threaten its security. I'm your friend, Dream, I'd never do something to undermine our work together.”

Well, thank whatever gods were out there that Sam was a terrific liar.

Dream kept looking at him for a horribly long amount of time, his face unreadable beneath the porcelain smile, then nodded curtly. “Fine. Someone must have slipped in behind you or while we were meeting. Stay _right_ here and guard the vault and my chambers. I’ll go hunt the intruder down.”

Sam nodded in return, holding up his communicator. “I’ll check the security feeds while you look. I’ll message you if I spot them.” How his voice was as steady as it was, Ranboo had no idea. He was too busy trembling on the floor, not daring to move in fear of Dream hearing him.

When Dream had run down the far corridor, Sam murmured in a barely audible tone, “Are you two there?”

From Sam’s right, Tubbo’s voice came from the empty air. “Right here.” It sounded dazed and terrified. Ranboo squeezed his arms as he stood and whispered, “I’m here too, it’s all my fault, I was about to teleport and—”

“Shhh,” Sam hushed quickly, his eyes darting down the hall Dream had disappeared. _“You two need to get out of here. He’ll probably check the outside of the building, so you’ll need_ to follow him out and you need to _not get caught_. You guys are _dead_ if he finds you. I can’t leave this spot or he’ll know it was me, and then we’ll all be fucked. Go _now_ and you’ll be able to catch him when he opens the main door.”

“Okay,” they both said, and took off. Their footsteps were painfully loud, echoes bouncing across the obsidian as they traced their path they took in to get out of the prison. Ranboo didn’t know where Tubbo was in relativity to him, if he was far ahead or behind or completely far away. He couldn’t teleport through the outer walls; they were far too thick and the mining fatigue only made his range weaker.

Ranboo couldn’t remember their path as he took the next turn. That was bad. _Really_ bad. _Seriously, memory problems? You have to fire up_ _NOW_? He slowed, and dismay shot through him: he couldn’t hear Tubbo’s footsteps or breaths at all. _Oh god._

He nearly crashed into a dead end. The skid of his feet against the floor was as loud as cannon fire in the chilling silence of the building. Panic was crawling up his throat and he saw a few purple particles speckle the air before fizzing out.

Then, slow, deliberate footsteps echoed around the corner. A shadow of an armored man wielding a long axe grew as the steps got closer. Ranboo’s heart crawled into his throat.

A haunting, twisted laugh. 

“ _I hear you. Come out, come out, where ever you are._ ”

* * *

_(Tommy’s POV)_

Tommy remembers the very first time he woke up drowning.

It was on his second, maybe third, maybe fourth week of exile _(He stopped tracking time when people stopped showing up)._ He’d gone to bed tired and worn out from his daily recollection of resources, already dreading the next day when all of his hard work would go up in a cloud of smoke. Ghostbur hadn’t been by for a few days now, but why should he be surprised? Everyone left in the end. Everyone but Dream. But Dream hadn’t shown up that day, either. So Tommy went to bed, his mind sluggish and stinging with his own grief. He felt pathetic.

As he slipped off into blissful night, he felt dark whispers promising sweet escapes brush his mind. And they gave him a thought so unnatural that it felt like perfection: _What if he didn’t have to wake up ever again?_

The words echoed through his nightmares. Then he was pulled from his unconsciousness because water was filling his lungs and he couldn’t _breathe_.

  
Tommy’s eyes shot open, and he threw his hands to his mouth to stop choking on salty water. He managed to quell his panic enough to swim up and up and up until he broke the surface and took great gasping breaths of fresh air.

  
Only when he had purged all the water from his lungs did he realize he was in the middle of the tiny lagoon created by the curved land that Logstedshire was in. He wasn’t too far out from shore, but the opaque water was deep beneath where he floated. Shaking from the chill of the sea and terror, Tommy swam back to the beach.

He didn’t tell Dream about it. No need to worry his only ~~friend enemy~~ company.

  
The ritual continued: Wake up drowning. Swim up. Go to the tent. Work. Let Dream blow up your items. Talk to Dream. Work. Secretly Fly. Go to sleep. Wake up drowning.

And as weeks bled into months, opening his eyes to the lull of waves far above him became peaceful. Calming, even when he couldn’t breathe. 

And eventually he’d consider not swimming up at all, because his wings were so heavy when they were waterlogged and his arms were so tired and he was so weak from malnourishment. And sometimes he’d let himself sit in the sandy waves until his vision flashed black and water filled his lungs. He’d always swim up.

Maybe the addiction to that feeling of drowning came from the solace that followed when he finally gasped in mouthfuls of air. The longer he stayed under and the more painful taking in the water was, the better the feeling was when he came up. It felt refreshing. It felt like relief.

That’s why Tommy was confused when he woke up swaddled in blankets on Technoblade’s couch and he felt like he’d just come up from being under the surface. He heaved in great breaths, his mind whirling and his hands flying to his throat. Panic soaked through him and he struggled to get out of his covers. His back ached.

It took him a few minutes before he calmed enough to realize he was _not_ drowning and he was _not_ in Logstedshire. It was the morning after he’d gone outside. He shakily settled himself back down on the couch ( _but he didn’t lean back against the cushions, didn’t acknowledge what was missing on his shoulders)_. His fingers trailed to his sternum to brush his necklaces. He looked around slowly. Why did he feel like he’d just come up from drowning? Why did he feel relieved? Something stirred in his chest, and Tommy forced himself up.

He found himself knocking on the door to Technoblade’s room, his thoughts speeding too quickly to let him reconsider. Outside, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. He heard a grunt and shuffling, then an incoherent mumble, and finally the turn of a doorknob.

Technoblade rubbed his eyes, donned in flannel pajamas. His pink hair was a mess. He looked down at Tommy blearily and blinked in surprise. “What is ‘t Toms?” he said, his voice low. Tommy took a step back, and felt a strange bubby feeling. He hadn’t realized until now how long it’d been since he’d laughed until a single huff came out, genuine, _real_ , as he gaped at his brother. “Techno, you wear _flannel pajamas?”_ A smile pulled uncomfortably at his lips, but it lasted.

The scarred man shook his head as if to right himself, and stared at Tommy incredulously. “I-I’m sorry, _what?_ ” The laugh hadn’t died out and Tommy didn’t want it to so he kept going. “I dunno, Tech, I just thought that someone as posh as you would wear, like, some silk fuckin’ clothes to sleep. But _flannel?_ I would’ve assumed such a thing was beneath the ‘ _Blood God_ ,’ but guess I was wrong _!”_ Another small laugh escaped his throat.

Technoblade was looking at him strangely. Caution and concern crossed his features; he looked like he was about ask something and all Tommy could think was _please don’t question it please just go along with it I haven’t felt like this in forever and I really just need this stupid joke please don’t-_

The door creaked as his brother pushed it the rest of the way open, and groaned, “it is _way_ too early for you to be mocking my fashion sense. They’re comfortable, so don’t judge, _nerd_. Did you literally just wake me up to insult how I dress?” A careful, small smile played on his mouth, stretching his scars on his cheekbones. Tommy realized he really liked Techno’s smile.

Glancing up at Techno nervously again, Tommy let out another huff of laughter. He saw Techno’s grin spread a little more. “Hah, um, no, actually. But you _do_ look stupid.” He hesitated, then swallowed. “I… I wanted to ask you something.”

Sun broke through the dull curtains, and Tommy had to shuffle backwards so the rays didn’t glare in his eyes. As silence filled the next beat, fear and regret rushed in. _Of course you can’t ask him something you fucking idiot, why would he waste his time talking to a piece of shit like you? Your idea was stupid and dumb anyway. Apologize and leave him alone._

Tommy dropped his gaze, an apology tilting off of his lips, but then Techno stretched his arms up and nodded towards the living room. “Yeah, alright. Just let me go brush my teeth real quick.”

Tommy nodded, and hurried back to the couches, nervously rubbing the feather on his necklace. Guilt flushed through him as he spotted the clock on the wall; it was barely 6 AM, and everyone had gone to bed late last night. That strange feeling, that dull ember in his chest burned with shaky determination.

Ghostbur floated into the room, and his face lit up when he saw Tommy sitting up. “Tommy! You already got up out of bed today! That’s so much better than yeserday. Good job!” Tommy didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just nodded. He was worried whatever was keeping him going right now was going to slip away, and he was already really tired. Ghostbur just hummed, drifting over to the kitchen.

A minute later, Techno stomped down the stairs, his pink locks sticking in every direction. Ghostbur barked out a laugh, and Tommy flinched. _“Technoblade_! You look like a mess!” Techno rolled his eyes. “I literally _just_ woke up and haven’t even had a cup of coffee. Not all of us are spirits stuck with the same perfect hair for eternity.”

Ghostbur tossed his brown curls dramatically. “It is perfect, isn’t it? I can’t dye it with blue, though. I tried. Anyway, since you don’t know how to brush your hair Technoblade, can I braid it? I remember doing that made me happy.”

Techno winced, a small movement, his eyes flashing with sadness. He blinked, and it was gone. With a grunt of approval, he sat himself in the couch across from Tommy. The ghost came around and pulled the long pink strands over the back of the seat and began to unknot them, then braid them with careful fingers. Techno looked at Tommy.  
  


“What’s up, Tommy?”

The blonde hesitated. His hands close around the compass, tracking the scratches in the metal. A slow breath. His words are shaky and his resolve isn’t strong but he still pushes on. “I-I know I’m not back to normal and I know... I know I might not ever be. I don’t like feeling so, so _useless_ in this house and it’s time for me to s-suck it up and do something. I feel like if I don’t do something I’m gonna fall apart.” His fingers twitch with that once eternally thrumming electric energy. “I need to fight. A-and you mentioned before that you’d help me. So I was wondering if we could start. Training. Um,” The words are flowing out now, the resolve finally being overwhelmed by his anxiety. “but-but if you don’t want to or don’t have the time to I totally get it and I’m so sorry for asking, I shouldn’t have gotten you up so early and I’m really sorry that I’m wasting your time—”

“ _Tommy_.”

He winces, and his gaze meets Techno’s red irises. Small smile lines crinkle around his brother’s eyes. Tommy likes it when Techno smiles because it looks nothing like that terrible porcelain smile that haunts his dreams and nightmares alike. Techno reaches over to pat Tommy’s shoulder. “I’d love to.”

. . .

Around lunchtime, the two brothers were outside, holding old swords. Their ghostly brother hung by the horse’s pen, calling out encouragement. Phil sat on the stairs by the porch, a cup of tea clutched in his hand. Steam curled up into the chilly air from the warm drink.

Tommy didn’t know what he’d been thinking. One, he was _outside_ again, in broad daylight, where the whole entire world could see in the light of day that he didn’t have wings. He felt exposed, vulnerable. He wanted to hide.

Two, he was terrified to hold a weapon again. He didn’t know if he could trust his own hands enough not to turn the blade on himself, but he knew he never wanted to be so _fucking weak_ ever again. He knew he’d need to be strong when Dream inevitably came to collect him.

Because every time he thought about Dream, the overwhelming rush of revenge and terror and twisted happiness shot up his limbs. The person who had been his abuser, but also his only friend. Who had taken his feathers, but also let him fly with his trident for as long as he wanted.

His thoughts of such ‘kindnesses’ were shoved to the side as the stitches in his back ached. Dream had taken more than he ever gave. He was ready this morning to start training, so he’d have to be ready now. He didn’t think there would be any issues with fighting, just the ‘being outside’ part.

  
He was wrong. Now, on Technoblade’s snowy lawn, it hurt to swing his sword. He felt too light. His swings kept going too far, the new gravity of his body and his movement significantly disorienting each attack. And every time he heard the ring and clash and clang of metal, every time their swords sliced together, Dream was there. Dream was there.

Dream was _everywhere_.

_Ring. Like the noise that filled Tommy’s ears after Dream found his stash of items and blew up all of Logstedshire._

_Clash_. _Dream was beating him to a pulp for arguing back._

_Clang. Tommy’s armor and weapons struck together at the bottom of a hole, then the hiss of TNT obliterated them._

_Slice. Tommy’s wings were cut off and they dropped into the grass, blood soaking into the ground._

Tommy dropped his sword. Techno instantly relaxed his arm, sheathing his weapon.

Tears pricked his eyes. He couldn’t do this. 

* * *

_(Technoblade’s POV)_

Techno had just watched the fight _die_ from his little brother’s eyes. It was one of the most terrible sights he’d ever seen.

As kids, even when Tommy had been beaten in spars or swordfights, that fight had never died. Really, that anger and determination only flared up higher with defeat. Tommy had always been as bright and burning as the sun, a demanding force full of explosive energy.

As he watched Tommy’s sword slip to the ground with a _thud_ , Chat whispered in his head. Techno shut them out. This wasn’t about them.

Techno looked sadly at his brother and sighed quietly. _Oh, Icarus._ The world was cruel to people with that much fire in them. Of course his wings were bound to burn when Tommy was the sun itself.

He glanced at Phil, who gave the metal swords a pointed look and gently nodded at Tommy. Techno took a step over, and scooped up Tommy’s sword. He walked over to the little shed next to his house and pulled out two wooden swords. Then he turned and came back over, placing a gentle hand on Tommy’s shoulder. The blonde looked up from where he was crouched in the snow, his eyes drained and his gaze empty. Small tear tracks trickled down his face. Techno gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and held out the wooden sword.

“How about we try again?”

Tommy stared at it, and his fists tightened. He nodded. He was trying.

So they raised their weapons and started anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha I like how just as one side of the story starts improving and people start healing the otherside descends into hell and chaos. 
> 
> As always, if you saw typos, no u didn't <3
> 
> IMPORTANT THINGS PLEASE READ:
> 
> So! I will be starting a discord for this fic & discussion of my other ones, where I'll update when chapters are coming out and give sneak peeks and stuff! If you saw the link last chapter, I was informed it doesn't work so I'm figuring that out. (IT IS NOW A WORKING LINK AT THE BOTTOM OF THESE NOTES AND IN COMMENTS)
> 
> (I had to watch a YOUTUBE video on setting up the discord because I'm technologically inept so please join when I post the link so it wasn't a waste of time haha thanks ; - ;)
> 
> Also also! GO READ MY NEW FIC MEMENTO MORI! I swear it's going to get better from where it's at rn I just had to get a buncchhhh of exposition outta the way. It'd mean SO much to me! Also it takes place in the same story/world as this one so it's just more content ;) 
> 
> Also also also, I have a one-shot that's been out for a while about Tommy's healing process after the Disc Finale (not related to this story) so if you want angst-drenched fluff feel free to check that out <3
> 
> Comment what you thought about the chapter below! <3
> 
> UPDATE: Peanut_Brains is the best and helped me fix the disc link because i am stoopid
> 
> DISC LINK FOR LITTLE VICTORIES & MY OTHER FICS!:
> 
> https://discord.gg/q9Vm5wnbF7
> 
> If you want to talk about any of my fics, share fanart of them, or just hang out, come join! It's brand new and I've never managed a disc before so pls be gentle ;3 it's empty rn cuz I just actually opened it :D


	12. Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy continues to train, but things aren't quite right. An unexpected visitor appears at just the right moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY I KNOW ITS BEEN A WHILE. I AM A MESS. BUT THIS MESS WROTE NEW CHAPTER I HOPE YOU LIKE. THANKS EVERYONE FOR BEING PATIENT. GO READ MEMENTO MORI IF U WANT MORE LV CONTENT IT GETS GOOD I PROMISE.
> 
> GO LOOK AT FANART AT THE END ITS SO AMAZING 
> 
> I WONT STALL. ANGST FOR THE ANGST GODS.
> 
> TW: Weapons, fighting, suicidal thoughts, injury description, panic attack, vomiting, blood.
> 
> (Geez, every time I write a TW I have to consider what’s wrong with me to write this stuff. Huh. Some tasty food for thought for me, I guess.)

* * *

_(Philza’s POV)_

Outside, there was a steady _clack_ of wooden swords clashing, punctuated every few minutes by a natural silence that fell when a fight ended. The angel of death watched from the window in the toasty cabin as one of his sons and the ghost of the second tried to bring fire back to the third.

Philza folded his wings tighter to his body as he watched Tommy swing his sword quickly upwards when Techno’s weapon aimed for his shoulder. Tommy’s sword hit nothing, and too late he realized he had made the mistake he’d been making for the past few hours. His youngest son kept trying to protect something that wasn’t there; Techno had been doing the same attack to try and break the habit. Tommy was so used to defending his wings above all else in battle; when Phil had taught him as a kid, he told him that even if he was wounded somewhere else, his wings would always be a reliable escape, his chance at freedom in the direst of situations. They were the one thing he could not let get harmed, because what is a bird without its wings? He feels his nails dig into his arms as Tommy’s sword droops to the ground and Technoblade gracefully steps backward, ending their spar without a moment of hesitation. Ghostbur floated over, smiling gently and giving the other two a thumbs-up. Philza could practically see his own words echoing in Tommy’s head as his free hand drifted back to touch his shoulder. _The one thing he could not let get harmed._

They’d all been thrilled two days ago when Tommy had suddenly begged Technoblade to start training him; it seemed that he was coming back after all, the flame had been lit. They’d all jumped at this newfound opportunity, offering absolutely whatever help they could. Techno was doing the most; staying out in the cold with his little brother anywhere from minutes to hours. Knowing when to fight gently and when to push him. Keeping the mask he’d used as his crutch off, the old reminders of his suffering bare for the world to see.

Phil watched as Techno looked at his brother with those red eyes, eyes that he had rarely glimpsed this much since his son was young. Even in all of their travels together, Techno had firmly kept the pig’s mask on, his eyes shrouded and his scars covered. But for Tommy, the Blood God had relented. Whenever Tommy got discouraged and that terrifying hopelessness crept into his eyes, Techno would patiently wait, occasionally offering words of encouragement. After a while, the blonde would look up, and a steel determination would cross his face. Then they’d start again. It felt like progress. It looked like healing.  
  


Besides literally every other terrible thing that had happened, there was something worrying Phil about Tommy’s new behavior. He still was far from better, but his improvement felt off. Something inside his son was burning, but it wasn’t the flame that had blazed furiously; that had already gone out. Phil wasn’t sure what it was; while nothing is breaking, there is some part of Tommy that was broken beyond the feathers missing on his back. What does someone run on when the fire of their passion, their soul has been shattered and poorly patched together?

Everyone else in the house can see it in the nervous yet energized way he moves, the way something cold flickers in his empty eyes. The way he’d squeeze his eyes shut after a loud noise sounded or the boom of a creeper echoed far off in the night, tightening his hand into a fist, clenching his teeth, then he'd suddenly act like nothing had happened at all. The way he’d obsessively caress the feather on the leather cord around his neck, or rhythmically tap his compass when he passed by the honey farm adjoining the house. Yeah, at least he doesn’t need to be coaxed for half a day to eat or get up anymore, but it was still worrying.

The father of the seriously messed up boys outside felt his heart squeeze as he watched Tommy shake his head at Technoblade, letting his wooden sword slip into the snow. They were done for the day. Unlike Tommy’s old spark, whatever icy thing was simmering inside him now could run out. The old Tommy would’ve stayed on their snowy lawn for hours, determined to beat Techno at least _once_ , no matter how tired he got. The old Tommy had wings and an unshakeable grin, too.

Nobody could condemn whatever was keeping Tommy going, though. He gave them small smiles more now, occasionally tried to make a joke at dinner. He stopped looking at Ghostbur’s baskets of blue with that hungry gleam in his eye. He helped Techno and Phil with household tasks. There were still bad days, but much fewer than _every_ day being a bad one. He still hadn’t asked about L’Manberg or Tubbo, so they didn’t need to tell him about the disaster with the Butcher Army and Techno’s failed execution. Whatever topics the kid would bring up were light-hearted, simple, like how to craft a certain potion or what abilities certain mobs had. Nothing serious.

Even though Phil felt like his son was standing on ice, cracks spiderwebbing out from under his feet, ready to send him into the freezing water if he took a wrong step, it was okay. He was trying, so they would too.

The door swept open then snapped closed as Tommy, Techno, and Ghostbur came in the house, taking off snowy boots and retreating towards the warmth of the fire. Tommy’s eyes were cast downward, and his mouth was pulled in a frown. He grabbed the blanket from the couch, wincing as it landed on his shoulders without being interrupted by his missing feathers, then plopped down onto the cushions with a sigh. Phil offered him a hot chocolate, and he said yes. A good sign. After a few minutes, Tommy’s shoulders relaxed, and he sipped his drink. Flames from the roaring fire danced in his eyes, illuminating the measureless oceans of nothing inside.

It was okay. He was moving forward, towards what, Philza didn’t know. But at least he as moving. Phil looks at his broken family and emotion rushes into his chest. They’d come so far from the bright-eyed kids who started wars. The cackle of the fire lulls the silence into comfort, and so they go on.

* * *

_(Tommy’s POV)_

Sparring had been going well. Tommy could feel his body getting back into shape, his arms adjusting to swings of his sword unhindered by the weight of long-gone feathers, his stamina improving. Every day he goes outside, sometimes for just five minutes _(those are the bad days)_ and others for five hours. Techno never complains, he just nods whenever Tommy drops his sword to the ground, picks it up for him, and leads them both inside. Tommy helps with some chores, like collecting honey from the bee farm or helping Phil with dinner. He likes listening to Ghostbur’s songs; they help him fight off the desire to look at the blue he still wants but never asks for anymore. At night, he gazes at the stars through the window and tries to let go of his loss, to pretend the view from the ground is as nice as it was from the sky itself. It’s not. On the days when he can’t make himself feel anything he sits on the porch outside until someone pulls him back in, warning that it’s too cold for him to be out for so long. Not everything is fine, but it’s getting better. He still feels the damning numbness sing to him from the scars in his back, and he thinks about drowning more than he’d like to say. But he doesn’t do anything about it because good guys keep going. They keep trying. And he needs to be a good guy because if he doesn’t like who he is then there’s no point to any of this.

The routine is nice. Of course something would end up sending it to pieces.

The day starts off wrong when he notices that the needle on his compass has been pointed _ever so slightly more_ to the left for a few days now. Since he spends whatever time he’s not doing tasks or sword fighting with his older brother staring at it, feeling curiosity surge and quell like waves about how things are going for Tubbo, the difference is noticeable.  
  


Since Philza has been helping Tommy rebuild his confidence and constantly assuring him that he _is_ allowed to ask questions and he does _not_ have to apologize constantly for asking them, he goes upstairs to the warrior’s room and knocks on the door.

“Come in,” says a low voice from inside.

He walks into the room, clutching the compass in one hand nervously. Technoblade is seated in a chair next to his bed, a large book in his lap. His glasses are perched on his nose and he looks up at Tommy expectantly. “Hey Tech,” he starts, then hesitates. _Do I really want to know how Tubbo is? Does he even care how I am? Why should I care about the country that threw me out to die?_ His fingers tighten around the warm metal, and he continues. “Uh, do you happen to know h-how things are going in L’Manberg?”

Technoblade blinks in surprise, staring at him for another beat as if he wasn’t sure he had asked the question at all. When Tommy stands there, fidgeting with the necklaces around his neck, Techno sighs and closes the leather volume, setting it onto the small table next to him. “You really wanna know?”

Tommy nods quickly, some old fear afraid that his brother would change his mind and get angry to be asked anything at all creeping into his head. “If that’s alright, yeah.”

Techno stares out the circular window on the wall, sunlight filtering through and landing in a golden pool on the wooden floor. His fingers idly play with the end of his braid. “Well, I assume everythin’ is fine right _now_ , but neither Phil nor I have been there since two days before we brought you here.”

Tommy frowned. Techno’s absence from L’Manberg made sense; he did blow up the place with withers the same day Wilbur ignited the TNT tunneled beneath the ground, but he was fairly certain Philza had been living there just fine. In the days he’d been in their snowy cabin, Tommy had assumed Phil was just visiting Techno for a while; he’d actually been dreading the day his father would announce he was going back. “…any reason why?”

Techno didn’t meet his gaze, his red irises trained on the stitching in his leather seat. “Well, apparently as of a few weeks ago, they decided to preemptively eliminate any figures they saw as ‘threats’ to the nation,” he did air quotes around the word with his figures, “and apparently that included me, even though I made it very clear I was retired. So again, just two days before you came here when Phil was still in L’Manberg, I woke up with a fun little warning from him on my communicator. Heh, just when I was making my breakfast, too.” He swallowed, quickly glancing at Tommy. “And, uh, a bit later I came outside to find a few members of the cabinet on my doorstep, weapons in hand, demanding I come back to L’Manberg to pay for my ‘crimes.’ For what they said would be a fair trial."

The leather bent as Techno squeezed the arm of the chair. Tommy’s mind was reeling. “I knew it wouldn’t be fair, so I fought the people who came up. I would’ve won, too, until,” his eyes flickered to Tommy again, “until Quackity whipped out a dagger and threatened to kill my horse, Carl. So I went with them.”

“What? Big Q did that? He wouldn’t—”

“I can assure you, Tommy, that he would. I thought they’d play nice, too, which is why I didn’t hide Carl or actually try to hurt any of them seriously. But I was wrong.” His eyes were staring out the window again, like he could see all the way across the ocean to L’Manberg. “And I mentioned before that Phil sent me a message to warn me. He would’ve come, but he couldn’t, because the group that came to kill me put him on _house arrest_ and stole the loadstone compass I gave him to find me. It was pretty messed up.” At last, his gaze broke from the window and he sighed. Techno turned towards Tommy again, waiting for some sort of reaction.

The word seemed to tilt off kilter. “None of that is what L’Manberg stands for…” he murmured, but his voice trailed off. How would _he,_ of all people, know what L’Manberg was about anymore? He wasn’t a part of it now, and hadn’t been for months. It was probably nothing like the beautiful, glowing country he watched Wilbur paint at the start of the revolution.

Another question popped up in Tommy’s thoughts that he didn’t want to ask. He sucked in a breath, his shoulders curving inward. “Who—who was in that group? Who came up with the idea to… you know…?”

The warrior stared at him for a long moment, as if he were looking for something. The anxiety rolls in his stomach. Techno mutters slowly, “Well, it was Fundy… Big Q… Ranboo, though the kid didn’t look like he wanted to be there much, if ya ask me, and, uh,” Techno suddenly became very interested in a thread in the carpet below. “And Tubbo.”

Tommy’s heart did a little flip, then plummeted. Tubbo couldn’t do something like that. He _wouldn’t_ do something like that. Tommy is sure of it. He knows he wouldn’t go that far. _But do you really know him anymore? You couldn’t even read him that day on top of the obsidian walls when he_ exiled _you. Is that the best friend that you fought alongside anymore? You haven’t seen him in months. He hasn’t visited. He might as well be a stranger now._

His chest tightened. “He—he— _what_?” Anger and pain and fear. The low burning thing inside him keeping him going faltered, then churned, hot like lava. This information shouldn’t be this shocking to him, but he hasn’t heard anything about L’Manberg in so long and the _last_ thing he expected was this because Dream told him they were happy and everything was so much better without him so _why were they still having problems like this since he’s not there to fuck everything up —_

There’s the sound of a chair being pushed back, and suddenly Technoblade is in front of him, his face worried. His lips are moving but Tommy doesn’t hear him over the sound of his own hyperventilating. A hand gently touches Tommy’s arm and he violently flinches away. He needs to escape because _he’s trapped and somehow everything happening in L’Manberg is definitely his fault and he can’t go up and away and he needs out_ so he pushes Techno back and rushes out of the bedroom, opening the next door he can find and slamming it behind him. He’s still _trapped_ but at least the world can’t see him in here and—

Someone is in the room with him. He stumbles backward, his back hitting the wall. His injuries throb with pain and he feels some phantom agony from missing wings. The person staring back at him has dull blonde hair and dark eyes. Their face is pale and looks just as afraid as Tommy is right now. They’re standing strangely and his posture is bent even in his panic, like they’re used to carrying things on his back. They look haunted. When Tommy tries to get further away from them, they do too, and then it hits him.

He’s looking in a mirror. This is Techno’s bathroom. The bathroom downstairs doesn’t have a mirror in it; Tommy hasn’t seen his reflection since he got dressed to go that final meeting with Dream with Tubbo and the others. A shaky hand lifts up to touch his hair, which is gathered in a small tie at the base of his neck. He remembers Ghostbur tying it for him during training yesterday _(Your hair’s gonna get all icky, Toms! Since I can’t braid it yet, we’ll just do this)_ ; he didn’t even know it was this long. He takes a tentative step forward. His eyes are dull and gray in comparison to the lightning blue they used to be. The worst part about this whole thing is that he looks so, so small. _Not really a ‘Big Man’ anymore, it seems._ The air is empty on either side of him and before he can think he’s stripped his shirt off and he’s twisting his neck to look at his back in the mirror and he sees the wicked scars starting at his shoulder blades and ending at the middle of his back and then he’s throwing up in the toilet, strangled sobs shuddering out of him.

Tommy thinks someone is talking at the doorway but he can’t be sure. The compass is cold against his sternum, and the feather tauntingly soft. He’s still trapped. He needs to get out. He slowly, agonizingly lifts up his arms to put his shirt back on, feeling the scars stretch. It’s nauseating how they slide down his back, uninterrupted by feathers. He’s still breathing too fast, but he can think clearly enough to know that he needs to _get out._

Turning the doorknob slowly, he steps into the hall. A concerned Ghostbur and Techno are waiting there, and they both start when he comes out. Before they can say anything, Tommy storms downstairs. Phil is sitting at the table, and he looks up from the potion he was brewing as Tommy grabs his cloak and Techno thunders down the steps.

“Tommy? Wait, what—”

Suddenly he’s running and tears are dripping hot down his face. It’s snowing lightly, and the world is alight in ripples of transparent blues. His cloak billows behind him and the tug feels like wings and he cries harder. Tommy collapses when he reaches the treeline, buckling behind the thick trunk of a spruce. Everything has gone wrong. He doesn’t know he is anymore; he didn’t even recognize his own reflection! Worse, he doesn’t know who _Tubbo_ is anymore. The world is changing too quickly for the flightless bird and it cannot fly with the flock without its wings. He wants to quell the roaring lava burning inside of him and he wants to drown in the icy cold. The world has fallen into crystalline silence. Snow flecks his royal blue cloak like artificial stars. He focuses on that, letting his sobs fade into hiccups. Things were going so well. Why did he have to snap again? Pain crackled in his chest, dark and fierce. He always ruined everything.

He’s sheltered by a palace of rich green tresses, the diaphanous pine needles shielding him from the glaring light of the sky. In the snowy lawn he came from, sun breaks through the thick clouds in hollow pools of pale gold. He curls up tighter and wishes he could disappear.  
  
That’s when he hears it. The haggard breathing, the snapping of twigs. The terror that shoots through him is electric, and he bolts up. For a moment, it’s all _Dream Dream Dream is here Dream has found him Dream is going to kill him_ but then he remembers that Dream would never be so clumsy; like a predator, he’d sneak up silent and deadly.

Tommy takes a slow step forward as the sound gets closer. “Hello?” he calls, which is stupid, but he doesn’t take much caution when it comes to his life anymore. “Who-who is it?”

A tall shape tumbles out of the holly bush across from him, clutching its side, where dark blood is blooming through nice clothes. Multicolored eyes lock with his own, and surprise mirrors in the gazes of the two boys.

  
“Ranboo?” Tommy chokes out.

“ _Tommy?_ ” the half-enderman says, panting and looking very much like he is about to faint. “You’re _alive?”_

Tommy blinks. “Well, y-yeah. What—”

He sees Ranboo look over his shoulder, then the other. Tommy almost turns to see what he was glancing at before he remembers. _Oh_. No one else has seen him without his feathers yet. Tommy’s shoulders hunch a little. Ranboo momentarily stops panicking. He looks crestfallen. “Tommy…”

The blonde shakes his head. He can’t handle this right now. “It’s not—don’t—” he stutters, then straightens his resolve a bit, coming closer to him. “Ranboo, are you okay? Why are you bleeding?”

Ranboo snaps out of whatever heartbroken shock he had been in upon seeing Tommy's missing plumage, his face pinching with anxiety and pain. A green and red eye bloom with tears and he stumbles forward, cringing around his stomach. The crimson color spread across the fabric. Tommy catches him from falling, surprised at how violently the tall man is trembling. “Tommy, you’ve gotta help me. He’s got him and he’s gonna destroy everything. It’s all my fault and I should’ve stayed but he had us trapped and—”

“Woah, woah, big man, slow down. Who’s got who? What’s going on.”

Tommy takes a step back and starts leading him toward the cabin, glancing at the blood worriedly, where Techno is rushing toward the trees with Phil and Ghostbur. They slow as Tommy and Ranboo get closer. Techno clutches the hilt of his sword, but he doesn’t look to concerned. Ranboo looks at all of them. “You’ve got to help me,” he starts, his voice breaking,

“Dream got Tubbo. He’s trapping people in the prison. And he’s gonna raze L’Manberg and everyone in it to the ground.”

* * *

FANART OMG LOOK LOOK 

Techno in his flannel PJs from last chapter! I LOVE THE DESIGN <3 <3 <3 TECHNNOOO

**@dr_Alvi_ on Twitter:**

****

And this heartwreching art of Tommy and Dream with the wings suspended above by **@ApeyApe** on Instagram:

WHO NEEDS A HEART ANYWAY RIGHT ; - ;

And these insane pics of Tommy missing his wings with a line from Techno ( _Oh Icarus_ ) and Tommy's nightmare from earlier chapters by Astell (who doesn't have social media but they are so talented and said I could share!)

BEAUTIFUL LOOK AT THE SHADING AJDNHFBNJSKJDNHBFNJKSD

YOU ALL ARE SO INCREDIBLY TALENTED AND I'M SO HONORED ; - ; <3 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pain haha be afraid for Tubbo. I'm sorry for the ~*cliffhanger~* again but I needed some interlude from the prison :D Sorry this one was kind of a filler but I promise the next few will be action packed <:)
> 
> IM IN SHOCK FROM ALL THE LORE WE GOT YESTERDAY WTFFFF TOMMY AND THE PRISON STUFF I-
> 
> ALSO LOOK AT THAT AMAZING FANART HOLY COW OMGOMGOMG  
> NOW GO LOOK AT IT AGAIN  
> YALL SO TALENTED :O
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment about what you thought—it means a lot to me!!! <3
> 
> Want more? I’m writing the prequel about the story of Techno in this fic! It involves lots of Techno angst and SBI Arctic Empire royal family. I worked very hard on it so pls go read ^-^ ; - ;
> 
> Also, if you want to talk about any of my fanfics, share fanart of them, talk about the dream smp, or just hang out, join my discord! 
> 
> https://discord.gg/q9Vm5wnbF7


	13. Finding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranboo tells them what happened, and something changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been a while, folks!
> 
> Kinda got wrapped up in all the lore and writing memento mori (the precursor to this fic). I had to drag myself through writing this chapter and it’s not one of my favorites but it was a very necessary one for the plot. I didn’t anticipate writing Ranboo angst but here we are LUL
> 
> This week has been wild. I do be busy but in a good way. 
> 
> I’m tired.
> 
> ANGST FOR THE ANGST GODS
> 
> TW: Blood, injury, angst, kinda panic attack? Idk y’all know what to expect from this.

* * *

_(Ranboo’s POV)_

Since arriving on Dream’s server, Ranboo had always seen certain people in one of two ways. It was usually the ‘wild cards,’ the ones he couldn’t quite figure out or prepare himself for, couldn’t form a proper opinion on. Either they were like a roaring fire, so hot that if he got too close they’d burn him or set him aflame with them, or they were a pillar of ash, unknown and if he pushed the wrong way they’d crumble at the touch. And people could be one of those in a good way or a bad way. No matter what, though, Ranboo knew he had to be cautious around just about anyone.

Tommy had always been fire; he was chaotic, destructive, loud, spontaneous, adventurous. His eyes had a mischievous glint and his smile was dangerous. Heck, the first experience they’d had together was a robbery that resulted in Tommy getting exiled and Ranboo himself nearly getting incriminated on his first day in L’Manberg. Tommy was painfully, addictively bright and burned with the energy of a thousand suns.

Ranboo never thought he’d see a day where that fire ran out and turned to ash.

But there he was, freshly bandaged sitting at Technoblade’s table, staring at a ghost. And it wasn’t the phantom version of Wilbur nervously drifting in the corner. Ranboo had anticipated just a short while ago that the next time he’d see Tommy, Tommy _would_ be a ghost. He tought Tommy was dead. He never expected to see the blond as a _living_ one.

They were seated carefully distanced away from one another, and Tommy was holding extra bandages in case he needed any. Tommy was most _definitely_ putting on a front to help Ranboo calm down about Dream and the prison, that much was obvious to the half-enderman; the strain in his greyed out eyes and the stiffness in his shoulders could be seen from across the room, and Techno and Phil kept exchanging pointed looks. The absence of the red wings was heavy and it was all Ranboo could do not to stare at the void hanging about the blonde’s shoulders. But he already knew about the wings. He didn’t know about the flames that had been doused. He should have expected them to be gone, though.  
  
There were no more energetic, nervous little tics. No knee-bounces, no sporadic glances about the room, no reckless energy sparkling around him like gold. There was a haunting sort of stillness, even as he looked at Ranboo with fraught, anxiety-filled concern. But apparently, even this worry was new, based on the confusion written across Philza’s face. Techno was still assessing Ranboo with his hand casually fixed on the hilt of his sword.

Phil asked him if there were any other wounds apart from the long slice they’d just patched up across his abdomen. “N-no, I’m all good, thank you.”

“Okay, then,” Phil said, folding his wings neatly as he slid in a chair across the table. His voice was steady, calm, somewhere he could try to ground himself. “Tell us what happened.”

Ranboo took a deep breath, trying to drag up the memories. There were painfully sharp ones, stabbing into his head like daggers: _Dream calling out in a teasing voice, “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Dream’s terribly loud footsteps, the walls closing in like his panic room, the sound of Tubbo’s voice becoming strangled under Dream’s grip, the loud_ clang _of the prison’s doors, the arc of Dream’s axe is Ranboo barely dodged in time to avoid a lethal hit—_

“Woah, woah,” said a steady, kind voice. Phil. “It’s alright, it’s alright. Deep breaths.”

A moment later, a hand gently touched his across the spruce wood. He hadn’t realized his hands were shaking and he was hyperventilating. He glanced up to see Tommy reaching over, his fingers carefully resting against Ranboo’s, looking nervous. He gave him a small smile and let out a long huff, grounding himself.

Technoblade took a step forward, seemingly having abandoned his thought that Ranboo could be a threat. He had his mask off, the teen noticed, displaying a strange, uneven pattern of scars around his face. His red irises weren’t as severe as Ranboo would have guessed; as he watched the warrior look at Tommy, he thought his eyes might have looked proud, albeit a little sad.  
  
Slowly, warily, Ranboo pulled out his memory book from the pocket inside of his suit. It would be easier to start off like this, just reading any facts that he had a hard time dragging up from his brain instead of pulling up the vivid, painful memories seared into his mind. As he flipped to the most recent page, he spotted a few drops of freshly dried blood marring the parchment. There were ink blots along the edges, and the writing was hurried, scrambled, messy, like the person writing it had been moving and in a great rush. Ranboo supposed he had been, if he’d been fleeing Dream and the disaster that had taken place at Pandora’s Vault.

He watched Tommy’s other hand close around a compass, gripping it like a lifeline. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the feather on the cord next to it. _I need to be brave, for them. For him._ With a deep breath, Ranboo looked at the page and told them what happened.

. . .

“I hear you. Come out, come out, where ever you are.”

The invisibility was wearing off, and Ranboo could see the toes of his shoe. His chest ached at the rapid beat of his heart. He had never been so afraid in his entire life at such simple words. As he heard Dream’s footsteps approach, watching his shadow climb up the floor and get larger and larger, he felt the walls start to close in. Was the air getting thinner, or was he breathing too fast? Ranboo wanted to see the sky again. He wanted to laugh and tell someone about his memory problems and his nightmares and think happy thoughts yet the only thing running through his mind was _this is it this is it this is it this is it—_

Dream’s silhouette slowly emerged from the dull light of the obsidian hallway, and his shadow blocked the light source from shining on Ranboo. “Ah, invisible. Sam and I will have to work on that one.” The half-enderman slammed a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the loud noises of his breathing.

Another laugh, and the worst part about it was that the wheeze sounded so normal, so contagious. The poison was sweet but it was lethal, he supposed. The axe materialized in Dream’s hand, still drenched in shadow. The man was a mere step away from where Ranboo was pressed against the wall. The black smile on the mask looked menacing without light shining on the porcelain. “I can’t have anyone sharing my secrets, little intruder. But thank you for showing a flaw to my security system. Goodbye.”

The axe came down like a guillotine, and Ranboo closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

But the thing about being inside the vault named after Pandora’s Box was that there would always be one thing left inside, even when it seemed like all was lost.

  
_Hope_.

  
Tubbo, fully visible, like some wild force of nature, came crashing into Dream’s side with a feral cry, jostling Dream’s grip on the axe. The blade fell, slicing through Ranboo’s side rather than completing its goal of cleaving a wound in his stomach. Dream was thrown to the side, his head hitting the floor, and Ranboo watched Tubbo scan the ground before finding his slowly-reappearing shoes. As the speedrunner struggled to get up, the young president leapt to his side.

“Are you okay?” he whispered fiercely, his gentle eyes brimming with panic.

“Yea—” Ranboo couldn’t even get the word out before Tubbo somehow hauled him up despite not being able to see him, and whispered so low and quickly he almost missed it:

“Nether portal is closed. Two lefts, then a right, then another two left. The wall where the unlit portal is should be thin. Teleport out.” And Ranboo’s only true friend shoved him out the hall and stood in the way of a psychotic murderer with nothing but determination and a steely grit in his gaze.  
  
The tears _burned and burned and_ _burned_ down his cheeks. Ranboo thinks he was crying as he took the directions that were seared into his brain and found the portal room where they came in. He thinks something snapped inside as he clutched the wound on his side, his mind frantic and his lungs blazing. He doesn’t remember getting out, or what happened to Sam, or making the decision to go to Technoblade’s house.

But he remembers hearing Dream’s voice, slithering against the blackstone as Ranboo scrambled away. He remembers the earth-shattering horror sinking into his bones.

“Ah, _Tubbo_. I should’ve known.” There was a scraping sound, like an axe was being lifted from where it was knocked on the ground. “I guess you’d find out soon enough… that _Tommy’s dead_. I hope you like what I’ve done with the wings. In his memory, of course.” A pained, sharp gasp. Even as Ranboo got father and farther away, the words bounced across the stone walls, chasing him out. “But you know now, I suppose, so you’ll have to stick around. Can’t have anyone else like your little friend going about and blabbering.” Ranboo could hear the grin when he got into the portal room. “But I guess it’ll make it easier for me to get rid of L’Manberg with it’s _stupid president_ safely tucked away in here. We’ll have so much fun toge—”

. . .

And that was the last thing Ranboo remembered before finding a distraught, wingless Tommy in a snowy forest miles and miles away. There were no other hasty notes in his memory book. There was no recollection of when he wrote that or if he talked to anyone else in his head. He didn’t even know how long it’d been since. All he knew was that everyone was in danger and his whole word is falling apart and all he can do is stare blankly, hopelessly at the ruins.

  
“I came here and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what we can do.”

There was silence, and Phil’s staring at him with a lost expression. Techno was frowning, and he kept tapping his temple like he was listening to something. And Tommy was staring at the compass’ needle, which was pointed from the direction Ranboo came from. The fire crackles in the corner, like it’s trying to offer something to the grim group.

But then a trembling fist slammed down on the table, and Tommy stood up and Ranboo could practically see the ghost of fiery wings unfurling behind his shoulders. Something dark burns in those eyes. It’s a scary, broken, angry sort of look. Even ‘angry’ felt wrong for how Tommy looked now as he stared at all of them. _It's more like rage._ Ranboo shivered Something has changed.

* * *

  


_(Tommy’s POV)_

Tommy did not know what to do with the jagged rush of emotion that screamed at him to do _something_. He did not know what it was; it surely was not the bright fire that it used to be; this was colder. All he knew for sure was that he’s done sitting around. He’s done waiting for Dream to come finish him off. He knew he could not be given his feathers back; he had flown too close to the sun and they had burned away forever. But he did not have to crash into the ocean. Like all those mornings in exile when he woke deep in the sea, he chose to swim up. He _cannot_ crash and he _must_ swim, because Tubbo was in danger and so is everyone in L’Manberg that ~~loves~~ loved him. He does not have to drown. That’s the thing about birds: if you clip their wings, they will stand on their spindly feet and open their throat to sing.

He clenched his fists together. A feeling tugged at his cheeks and it’s not right but it felt good. The dangerous smile crawled along his face and sharpened as his gaze met Techno’s. The Blood God slowly, carefully returned it, death blooming in his eyes.

“I’ll tell you what were gonna fuckin’ do,”

The words have been dying to leave his throat for weeks. The words were the scars on his back and they were the fear that was manipulated into his heart. The words were blood and screams and battlefields where a child soldier watched his world burn down. A child that grew up in war, so the only option he’s ever watched people choose and chosen himself was _violence_.

The words are pain and Tommy has been accustomed to it for so long that he doesn’t feel it.

“We’re going to kill Dream.”   


* * *

FANART TIME BECAUSE U ALL KEEP BLESSING ME ^-^

TOMMY IN THE BOX DURING CHAPTER 8 HIDING FROM DREAM BY THE EVER LOVELY AND TALENTED Astell (who doesn't have social media but said I could share; come join disc if you wanna praise her yourself):

AND SHE ALSO DREW TOMMY SEEING HIMSELF IN THE MIRROR WITHOUT HIS WINGS FOR THE FIRST TIME LAST CHAPTER: 

LOOK AT THIS TALENT

LOOK AT IT ; - ;

OMFL IM SO BLOWN AWAY ITS AMAZINGGGG <3 <3 <3

\- For anyone else in the discord who sent art, please make sure to send your socials to the new channel so that I can get your permission to post and your social media platforms for proper credit! ILY ALL TYSM <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed 
> 
> idk why writing this chapter took so much energy. I didn't proofread, so as always, if you see typos, no u didnt <3
> 
> LOOK AT THE FANART SO MANY TALENTED AMAZING PEOPLE ; - ;
> 
> LEAVE A COMMENT IF U LIKED AND GO JOIN THE DISCORD!!! \/\/\/
> 
> https://discord.gg/q9Vm5wnbF7


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